Super Man (R. E. M.)

Language: Dutch

Part 2 of the Superman trilogy. The song here isn't terribly interesting, because the original repeats itself so much, but oh well.

I have yet to hear anything official, but I think it's safe to assume that I didn't get the job I interviewed for, and it probably has been safe to assume this for some time. I have mixed feelings about this, many of which are depression.

-Jessi

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

[a]
I'm a super man, I am, (Am I?) and I know what I happened.
I'm a super man, I am, and I can do, no matter what.

Do you make love with that guy? Now it's not really you.
I know that guy loves you, 'cause I see it exactly; you cannot.

[a]

[b]
I will trust you, little girl, if you leave me a million miles below, on
the way to your heart. Follow when I say I know.

[b]

[a] [a]

Well (Morphine)

Language: Dutch

Many, many years ago (about ten), Stan and I would invite people over about once a week to . . . well, I'm not sure what we were inviting people over to do. Drink, I suppose. I mean, it wasn't like we were quilting. Though drunk quilting is fun by itself (ask the Amish). But I digress.

I guess the term is "hang out." And when, on those occasions when we'd extended lots of invitations that people accepted, and the apartment was full of people in varying states of sobriety, there was a spell where sooner or later someone would propose a game of Murder in the Dark.

Murder in the Dark is, for those of you who don't know, where one randomly assigns a person at the party to be a detective, and another person is the murderer. This is traditionally done by writing on slips of paper, though if memory serves we usually used playing cards (for the uniformity and opacity). If you drew a jack, I believe, you were the detective, and if you chose something else (ace of spades?), you were the murderer. Everybody else got 2s and 3s.

The lights are then turned off, and everyone mills around in the dark until the murderer kills somebody. This is achieved by either finding a way to whisper to the intended victim, "You're dead," or else a strong, unambiguous squeeze or something, at which point the victim counts to some number (three? five?) and then cries out and falls on the floor. Everyone is then supposed to freeze in place, the detective (or someone standing nearby) turns on the lights, and the detective tries to identify the murderer by asking questions of everyone (except the victim, who is dead -- being the victim was kind of the crappy assignment, because it meant that you had to just lay there on the floor and not move while everybody else got to do something). Everyone except the murderer has to tell the truth, whatever this might be.

Only the detective or the murderer could "win" any given round, but that was okay because we weren't ever really playing for points or anything anyway. It was all about the mind games, and the chance to work through your issues with whomever by "killing" them, or at least groping them briefly. Pretty much the perfect game for college students, really. But, shit, it was fun. I'd play it now, too, except that the occasion doesn't present itself anymore.

The reason why I go to the trouble to explain and describe all this is, there was a designated mix tape¹ that went with the game, which we started and stopped when the lights went off and on, and this was the song that started it off. So now the song conjures up all these mental images of being totally dark, except for the orange streaks of people's cigarettes waving around randomly (sort of a hazard of the game: people did burn one another sometimes, accidentally) and the occasional faint outline of a window.

Booze! Cigarettes! Sublimated aggression! Whee!

-Jessi

¹(the "Strychnine" tape: for reasons we will leave unexplored here, all my mix tapes were referred to by chemical name. "Estradiol" was another early favorite, though it didn't have a game that went with it.)

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

You're well, well, well,
(well you are),
well well, well .
You tell me something is well:
tell me something,
tell me something.
You can read my opinion: tell me something,
tell me something,
tell me something.
You can read my opinion; you're something to me.
Tell your brain to read my opinion one more time.
Your brain can call me,
your brain, your brain calls to me one more time.
Your brain calls,
your brain, your brain calls to me one more time.
You push, you push,
push this way.
Well, you push,
you push well, push well:
It's something to tell your brain one more time.
Something calls me: you?
My opinion is possible.
Tell your brain to read to me one more time,
to call your brain,
your brain,
call your brain to me one more time.
Your brain, your brain,
call your brain to me one more time.
Well, you're good
this way? Well, good.

Do We Take Manhattan First? (Leonard Cohen)

Language: Dutch

Today's song is more or less in honor of Lynneguist, whose blog I ran into today, via a link from Francis Strand's blog, a link which could have mentioned me in passing but didn't and which I mention in an attempt to shame Francis, though it will not.

But anyway. Last I knew, Lynne was a Leonard Cohen fan, and probably still is, and she was nice enough to say nice things about the very blog you are reading right now, so I thought a shout-out of some kind might be in order, positive feedback being rare. And also I hadn't posted in a while so I was due.

Was this babelpopping successful? Well, as with most of them, yes and no. There are certainly some strange moments. I cannot, for example, explain the insertion of the word "bowl" in the third line. I'm also a little unsure what a "triplex viol" might be. I picture a viol with three sets of strings, 120 degrees apart from one another, that has to be played by three performers at a time. And probably somebody should build one of those, despite the obvious safety hazards. But it could mean something else entirely.

In other news, I went on a long walk today with the husband, and now my head hurts. This is either some kind of heat / sunburn / exhaustion thing, or I'm having a reaction to the DEET that we sprayed on to protect us from mosquitoes. Or both.

The mosquitoes seem especially motivated this year. Both times we've been in foresty areas in the last week or two, they've just flown at us from all directions. This had particularly bad results for me the first time, hence the DEET today.

-Jessi

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

Now they've condemned me to twenty years of trouble
for trying the change system within myself.
I come, I reward them, I bowl,
then we take Berlin. (We'll take Manhattan firstly.)

I'm accompanied by an indicator in the sky;
my skin conducted me by this birthmark.
The weapons of mine are conducted by our beauty.
We take Manhattan firstly, then we take Berlin.

[a]
I'd love a baby beside you,
your body and your spirit, and I'd love your clothing to live,
but you see that mail there, moving by the line? (Really?)
I told you, I told you, I told one of those about you.

Ah, you loved me as a loser, but now you're worried that I might've been made to win.
You don't have the manner, but you know to discipline me. Only stop --
first, let my work start. How many of these night baths for me?
We'll take Manhattan, then we take Berlin.

I don't love the manner of your company, sir,
and I don't love these drugs you keep: I'm not thin.
Do we love Manhattan first? (Take
what happened to my sister.) Then we take Berlin.

[a]

(Me and you:) Those points that you thank me for,
the monkey and the triplex viol, are sent
now. I managed to exercise each night.
We take Manhattan firstly, then we take Berlin.

I'm accompanied by an indicator in the sky;
my skin conducted me by this birthmark.
The weapons of mine are accompanied by our beauty.
We take Manhattan firstly, then we take Berlin.

Ah, remind me, for I used to live the music.
Remind me: I brought all your grocers in well.
Take the wounded first, father, and on the day, everyone
will take Manhattan; then we take Berlin.

The Little Girl of the Rubber Link (Kate Bush)

Language: Dutch

Well. Thanks to the one of you who wrote to ask how I was doing.

The answer is mostly, not all that well, though I'd be worse if I weren't collecting unemployment. I've never been very good at rebounding from problems, hence the song. Though I'm very good about being in denial that there are problems. Having had more practice with that.

Anyway. So I'm still around. And maybe I'll even get back to posting again semi-regularly, some day.

-Jessi

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

To see which trees
bend in the wind
has more meaning than my destiny: then they found me.
You see, she tries against herself.

[a]
A rubber link plays at marbles to resist;
the rubber link bends the beats.
If I could learn what a rubber link is,
I'd return to my feet.
The rubber links my trousers,
the rubber stops linking the ponytails:
if I could learn to twang, such as a rubber link,
I'd be the little rubber link girl.
Me, the little rubber link girl!
Me, the little rubber link girl!
Oh, I have wanted to be a little rubber link girl.

When I slip
from my catapult,
I got my feet to land firmly. With
the body, let the wear in, for delays.

[a]

Give as a rubberband;
twang, such as a rubber link;
crack, such as a rubber link.

Oneffenheid-a-kopie
Oneffenheid-a-kopie
Oneffenheid-a-kopie

[b]
You won't keep one rubber link,
you won't keep two rubber links,
you won't keep three rubber links.

Here I go . . . .

[b]

Large-Boned Woman (k. d. lang)

Language: Dutch

Sorry there's been so little blog activity lately; the whole unemployment thing is surprisingly demanding. I don't have a lot to say about anything anyway; this particular song (which wound up having some good lines, by the way) is kind of a placeholder. Hopefully soon things will return to some kind of normal and then we can proceed.

-Jessi

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

She was large-boned: not a woman
of Southern Alberta.
Only you could call her small.
And each Saturday night, you can bet
on her in the legion room.

Her blue clothing was conducted to move,
and she'd rolled him up --
which, oh, she'd already yielded.
And with a jump in her step,
and a wiggle in her pace, wait
below the street: she'll swing.

You could tell they were ready
by eyes on her can,
since she slipped by the mob.
She has run with grace
since they entered the place
yes, was a proud large-boned Woman.

Hey! Hey! Large-boned woman!
Don't doubt it: they're not natural.
A snake shakes, and
the floor breaks crossways, and we're concerned.
Hey! Hey! Large-boned woman!
I doubt they're natural.
Wind and a rock,
now she is shouting for more!

Now, people will manage themselves
from miles,
and would collect there to dance,
but then in the large-boned woman's shuffling,
she ended up keeping them in a trance.

The Christian's Sister (Night Ranger)

Language: Dutch

Saw some long, drawn-out VH1 special a couple days ago, the best 100 videos of the 80s or something like that. I was terribly disappointed when they got to #2, and then even more disappointed when they hit #1. No Tina Turner anywhere in the top 100, yet somebody found room for Journey and Def Leppard and Foreigner and shit. This song made it to #32, if this tells you anything about the quality of the selections.

-Jessi

P.S. I note with some pride that, of the 100 songs, Babelpop! has already covered 14 of them [(1) (8) (10) (16) (29) (32) (34) (37) (49) (53) (59) (62) (63) (79)], and have several others in varying stages of preparation. So clearly I have my finger on the pulse of something or other.

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

The Christian's sister
came. (Oh, she had the time!)
You don't know no longer; only some of you
say "OK." You go where you want:
those boys want to play
"Where Is It" with you.

You're motoring:
what price for your flight?
In finding Sir Right,
tonight is already right for you.

Babe, you grew this way rapidly, which you
have blamed. And mummies
don't make themselves.
Who was worried that you said, let's play
there. Says the sister of the Christian,
"Don't give so much of that up: you
are living it before your time."
Yes, it's been inappropriate.

Motoring
is your price for flight. What
you have in your face is him,
floating by, and
motoring.
(Your price for the night flight) What
is finding Sir Right?
You're already his tonight, right?

Motoring
is your price for flight. What,
in finding Sir Right,
is right? You've already come tonight. [repeat]

The Christian's sister is
the time, oh,
and you say that some of you are
O.K. Say,
"But we're motoring,
we're motoring."

Baby (Rufus Wainwright)

Language: Dutch

It's time, I've determined, for another trilogy. This one will be the "baby" trilogy. Not 'cause I'm having a baby. Just because.

This song is not my favorite Rufus Wainwright by a long shot -- to me, the pacing feels all wrong. It's like it takes him considerably longer to sing the song than the song deserves. But whatever. It's fine.

-Jessi

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

This way nothing is clear, so nothing is smooth.
Nothing is pure (such
as my baby).

I dreamed each of my days all in one night of life, as if
I were my own baby.

My days were intertwined with darkness up to
your silver eyes,
my baby. Who's on my tail?

And since then, I can't see directly
(funnily?), and my false
problems smile then. Which I know since I
have one clean eye (that only sees by itself), but

if you bring along your needles,
then I'll bring my sharpened pencils,
and I'll draw my baby
a funnier tragedy.

Question the children this way: "Players,
will we rent the living room of Ms. Omhoog
and dance with
my baby?"

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…
[UNPRECEDENTED LEVELS OF LAUGHTER]

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]

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.

-Jessi

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

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.

Shout (Tears for Fears)

Language: Dutch

First off, let's do note, because it's kind of amusing, that Tears for Fears becomes "Cracks for Apprehension" once it's been run through Babelfish in Dutch. This is slightly more interesting than what happens to "Tina Turner" in Italian, but not as good as what happens to "Tori Amos" in Italian.

I did not have a good day at work. Also I was offered a promotion. The two events weren't related to one another while I was at work, but my answer to one of these is likely to be influenced heavily by the other.

And there were other problems, which we'll not get into.

I don't really think that posting this song is going to be all that terribly useful as a venting mechanism, but I'm trying to do what I can, lest the husband suffer disproportionately for it.

The Babelfished song actually wound up sounding like it's about male prostitution. For all I know, though, that may be what the original song was about. Who knows who cares why bother.

-Jessi

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

Shout,
shout:
let it all these things
have me from outside.
Come on,
I can say that to you.

Your soul doesn't progress
in violent times,
and (blank) would have have sold well in black.
They really really would have known which track.
One opinion:
which working boy for you?
You named them all "good-bye."

For a joy, you wouldn't have jumped:
a kiss, a shout -- they must
give you a living.
Return this cold hell, and give in to that "you-for-them" way.
Ice them, since
we'll live to tell the tale. (I hope.)
When you shouted,
the guard took you below, and you had
a mind to change your love of your heart. I could really break.
Shout.

Nine Up to Five (Dolly Parton)

Language: Dutch

I've been quiet lately: work doesn't leave me a lot of time for this sort of thing. Sorry about that. The big news from the Guilford Estate is that the husband has been laid off from his job, which actually turns out to be the best thing for everybody involved, in some respects, but it was a little strange and abrupt, and so now there's some confusion.

I, meanwhile, have settled into a quietly resigned discontent about my own job: the first couple weeks were emotional and disappointing and all that, but I'm acclimating. Mainly I just dislike the owner, who is always around, and is condescending and mildly insulting all the time. One of those older Midwestern businessmen who enjoy the whole "boss" gig, who don't really need you to be jumping around like they're commanding you to, but enjoy the power-tripping. Whether this is actually any worse than the ones who pretend that they're your pal and develop friendships so you'll work yourself to death for them, I don't know.

But anyway. The man really bugged me at first, and then I asked someone, "So, is there any reason to hope, maybe far off in the future at some point, that [boss's name] might stop speaking to me as if I'm a moron, or lazy?" and was told no, that he's just like that with everybody, don't take it personally. This doesn't help a lot, but there's some perspective in there somewhere.

Anyway. About the song. I've always loved "Nine to Five." Or possibly I've just always loved Dolly Parton. I don't know why she's not still popular: I mean, I get that it's not fashionable to have talent, these days, what with the New Country thing that's been happening in the last twenty years or whatever, but come on. Surely we could make an exception for Dolly Parton. So what if she's a little twangy? Woman's a fucking national treasure, for Chrissakes.

-Jessi

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

Tumble and stumble outta bed, to the kitchen,
pour themselves an ambitious head.
Yawning, "Try life," to stretch themselves,
and jump in the shower, where the blood starts to come.
The movement of the streetpumps starts the
people, as I jump on the job of nine-up-to-five.

Active nine to five - what a manner in which to make up a living.
She takes all and none, which is hardly getting by.
You give your opinion, and they only give use of credit.
You'll float crazily if you're late; it is never enough.

"Service for those up to five-nine," and the devoted would think,
I want you; an honest promotion
would move me ahead. The employer seems to deserve to leave, but
people must get that from me sometimes, I'll swear. Mmmmm...

They omit your dream, only
to shatter your attention to them. To pay
you is only one step on the chef-man's ladder.
You got to dream, but he will never take that.

On your boat with the same friends, a lot
who reach within your ship. The day guard's on.
The tide's gonna roll you already, and it's gonna turn, and it's gone.

Active nine up to five - what a manner in which to make up a living.
She takes all and none, which is hardly getting by.
You give your opinion, and they only give use of credit.
You'll float crazily if you're late; it is never enough.

Nine up to five: yes, your true life wants them,
rich men. I think that you're game, and it
would discourage them, no question. What calling
goes with your life? And, if you want it, do you spend that funnily?

Active nine up to five - what a manner in which to make up a living
She takes all and none, which is hardly getting by.
You give your opinion, and they only give use of credit.
You'll float crazily if you're late; it is never enough.

Nine up to five there, yes, your better life wants them. True,
you're a game for rich men, but you dream. It is that, and
no question would discourage them. What calling
goes? Spend that life funnily, if you want.

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

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.

Me and Bobby McGee (Janis Joplin)

Language: Dutch

I used to like this song, and then I had a job where for three months, I heard this over and over and over from the local Oldies station (which was also responsible for a good chunk of my "American Pie" exposure), and now I dislike it very enthusiastically. Which is sad.

It nevertheless seemed like the thing to post today, because: 1) It was ready to be posted, 2) It's kind of depressive, and so am I (bummed out about employment issues), and 3) the re-working manages to freshen it up enough that it doesn't quite occupy the same space in my brain as the original.

The tendency of Dutch to translate "la la la" as "drawer drawer drawer" continues to puzzle me, although we've seen it before.

-Jessi

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

A busted train waits in Baton Rouge. I felt plain,
and so almost disappeared. My "slow jeans" are this way.
Flat Bobby thumbed a diesel before it rained;
we rode it to New Orleans, in our ready manner.

I drew my harpoon from my dirty red bandana:
I played gently, whereas Bobby sang the blues.
Wipers which were loved of the louvre-board, I slapped Bobby's hand in my time,
we sang each song that the driver knew.

Freedom is only a another word for loose leaves.
Honey ain't free now: it means nothing, nothing such as the
feel. And, well, the Lord was easy, and then he sang the blues.
Well, you feel good enough for me.
My Bobby McGee and me were well enough.

Of the Kentucky coal, to the California sun-mining,
hey, Bobby shared the mysteries of my soul.
By, everything that we did, all kinds of
my babies held back. Hey, Bobby: you cold?

One day up near Salinas, the Lord omitted him. I slipped
at that house. I have hope that he's looking, and he
finds a trade, but for yesterday. Each of my tomorrows
selects Bobby's body to love, beside me.

Freedom is only a another word for loose leaves. That's nothing;
Bobby left me nothing. Yes, all that
feeling easy was good, but, Lord, then he sang the blues.
Hey, well was well enough, hmm?
well enough for me and my Bobby McGee feel hmm.

LaLa van La,
LaLa van LaLa,
LaLa's drawer,
of LaLa van LaLa,
LaLa van Lavan
LaLa Bobby McGee.
Van of LaLa van La LaLa,
of LaLa van LaLa,
LaLa van van
LaLa LaLa,
Bobby McGee, the drawer.

Drawer of drawer,
LaLa van LaLa, LaLa's drawer,
of La van LaLa
van La van LaLa
LaLa's drawer.
Hey now, Bobby,
Bobby McGee: yes, now.
NaNa van NaNa
NaNa after NaNa van NaNa,
van NaNa, van NaNa,
after van NaNa,
Hey now, Bobby now,
Bobby McGee. Yes.

My Lord, who calls the people to clamour,
calls only my best lover. I said,
where can Bobby progress now? Yes, where is Bobby McGee?
Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lord,
hey hey, hey, Lord, Bobby McGee!

Yes! Whew!

Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lord,
hey hey, hey, Bobby McGee.

I Think I'm Paranoid (Garbage)

Language: Dutch


The husband and I got really trashed Friday night and watched Left Behind II: Tribulation Force, which he checked out from the public library. Now, I know what some of you are thinking, but it's OKAY: we'd seen the first one a few weeks ago, so we knew what was going on with the story and weren't confused.

With the first movie, we'd tried to make a drinking game out of it, by taking a drink every time somebody said "God" or "Jesus." Unfortunately, that didn't work very well at all, and left us far too sober to enjoy the thing: for some reason they save all the God talk until the last fifteen minutes. When it became clear that we were not going to be drunk enough to enjoy the ending, we switched to drinking every time someone's name is mentioned and that pumped up the collective BAC¹ to the point where the ending of the movie was more or less okay.

Learning from that experience, this time we just started out with the name-game, instead of the God-game. Either one would have been pretty brutal: there's a lot more God talk all the way through the whole second movie. But in any case, we went with names, and I got more intoxicated than I've been in a long time, by the end of the movie.

So what'd we think? Well, as theology, it's not very convincing. And sometimes the script kind of just assumes that everybody watching is a Christian, so for example, there's a scene where the Antichrist (Gordon Currie, pictured: he was way cuter in the first movie than in the second, by the way), who is by this point the Secretary General of the U.N., declares that religion is a big problem and it's been responsible for lots of wars and fighting and whatever, and that in order to make this all go away, he's just going to declare that the whole world all has one unified religion now. And then quotes a chunk of the Lord's Prayer, which I'm thinking would be a pretty boneheaded move for somebody who is supposedly interested in unifying the world's religions into one. I mean, like the Hindus who are watching him on the news are going to just stop being Hindus and take on this new world religion which sounds suspiciously like Christianity just because the Secretary General of the U.N. says so.

Which is the first of two big weaknesses with the films, that LaHaye and Jenkins seem to have written the books with the understanding that everybody secretly wants to be a Christian and would recognize it as perfectly obvious and sensible. So the characters periodically do or think completely inexplicable things, which only make sense if you accept as a premise that Jesus Is Magic, and everybody is either Evil, Christian, or unchurched: no one who is non-Christian actually believes whatever they claim to believe, be this Islam, Wicca, agnosticism, or whatever.

The other big weakness is that the whole "Left Behind" dealio is based on making you paranoid enough that you'll buy the first premise. This song is a stretch, I know, but it's the only song I could think of that would justify talking about the movie(s), and I did want to talk about the movie(s).

-Jessi

¹=blood alcohol level
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You can look at it, but touch it
not: I don't think much of you.
What can a little girl do to the sky?
You know what you must prove.

I think the paranoid are complicated, and
I think I manipulate the paranoid.

Anyhow, bend me, break me: you require all of me.
I want you to bow to me;
that's all I want. You split (break) me up easily.

You give up an ultrasound if I fall.
I would be lacking support: have another pill with me.
If I must fold, I'll
nail my belief to the sticking pole.

I think the paranoid are complicated, and they bend me, break me --
I wants you to. You require my all, anyhow.
Bend me, break me -- that's easy. I want all of
you paranoids to think I split. I'm up.

Bend me, break me -- you require all of me anyhow.
I want you to bend me, break me,
all I want you to do is easy.
You mutilated me, split me, stole my treats . . . anyway, I healed up.
You can never change me, control me, or love me.
Please come ahead, teases, and fight me as myself.
Leave me the baby already, and continue to want. That's right.

In any manner you wish, bend me, break me:
as long as I want you, baby, it's right already.

Conga (Miami Sound Machine)

Language: Dutch

I had intended to post "The Courtesy of Red, White and Blue Girls (Angry American)" (Toby Keith) yesterday, and in fact had the post more or less ready to go, and then my antivirus software kinda crashed my computer. I mean, that's not exactly what happened, but it's vastly more concise than what actually did happen, and in any case is the best you're going to get.

Consequently, no post yesterday, and the moment doesn't exactly feel right to post the Toby Keith now, so I'll sit on that one for a while. In the meantime: tonight, we are gonna party, up until we see the paddle!

I had a few years of Miami Sound Machine ("The Correct Machine of Miami," according to Babelfish and the Dutch) enthusiasm, which was a few years after everybody else did. I always used to have a bit of trouble with fads that way, but fortunately I'm also what is known in marketing parlance as a "slow adopter," which means that the most embarrassing stuff is on cassette and is thus unlikely to embarrass me in front of the grandkids.

And anyway, until Gloria Estefan left the Machine and went entirely easy-listening on us, I don't think she had anything to be embarrassed about. I mean, embarrassed relative to whom? Steve Winwood? Kenny Loggins? Eddie Money? Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam? They all had hits in 1986 too.

-Jessi

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

Progress; shake your body, baby; do the conga.
Whom can I not check longer? You.
Progress; shake your body, baby; do the conga.
You can no longer check whom I have blamed. (have blamed)

Progress; shake your body, baby; do the conga.
You who I can no longer check, no matter which feeling has blamed the rhythm.
The music (which becomes no stronger) fights to you, of you:
it does conga beats.

Everyone collects himself, now.
Feel around your body: heat?
You don't dance, yourself.
If you can't worry, make the music late.
Your foot movement is sweet! (The island is this way.)
Rhythm, as such, is sheer, and of the sugar.
If you want to do the conga
or to listen, you must beat.

Progress; shake your body, baby; do the conga.
You who I can no longer check, no matter which feeling has blamed the rhythm.
The music (which becomes no stronger) fights to you, of you:
it does conga beats.

Have you tried to feel the fire of wishes
since you went dancing tonight?
Because tonight, we are gonna party,
up until we see the paddle.
Improve me: bring
together what you seized, and get on.
As soon as music affected your system,
you are gonna end there: no matter.

Progress; shake your body, baby; do the conga.
You who I can no longer check, no matter which feeling has blamed the rhythm.
The music (which becomes no stronger) fights to you, of you:
it does conga beats.

Your body has tried progress: shake the baby. Do the conga
no matter who checks you: I no longer can.
You haven't blamed the feeling of rhythm, which becomes a stronger music;
You have tried conga fights, to
progress. Shake your body, baby; do the conga.
I can't matter. You no longer check your feeling, which
becomes stronger: not you. Whoever blamed the rhythm of music has done it.
Conga. The baby has tried to fight your body.

Personal Jesus (Depeche Mode)

Language: Dutch

I believe it was Stan who, years ago, described Depeche Mode to me as "the group to listen to when you want to hear religious themes raised but not addressed in any meaningful way." That's not a direct quote, but that's the gist.

Probably "Blasphemous Rumours" is the best example of this, but "Personal Jesus" runs a close second, unless I'm forgetting something.

That said, I have been making an effort for a while not to draw attention to particularly odd results from Babelfish, on the grounds that it's like yelling the punchline and then telling the joke. ("Let me tell you this great joke. The punchline is, And then Mariah Carey says, 'Oh, that's okay, it's not really a dolphin, either!' But it starts out, A priest, a rabbi, and Mariah Carey are in a rowboat. . . .")¹

But there's no way I can resist pointing out "You must confess things on your udder." 'Cause that's just awesome, even if it seems more like it would have been more appropriate in "Milkshake," which I did a few days ago.

-Jessi

¹Anybody who can write a serviceable (= "funny") version of a joke that starts out, "A priest, a rabbi, and Mariah Carey are in a rowboat," should contact me immediately. You don't have to use the above punchline as your punchline. The first such joke I receive is worth $10 to the writer. No purchase necessary. Some restrictions may apply. Offer void to residents of AL, NC, ND, OK, SC, TX, and where prohibited by law. E-mail me for full contest details: send a blank e-mail with the subject line "Mariah Carey joke."

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

Hear your own personal Jesus. To
someone who prayed, your someone,
your own personal Jesus
gives to hear someone pray. Your someone

who is unknown there feels
only flesh, leg, and you, all by the telephone, alone.
I will take you to a believer. Lift the recipient; make

my best test put
to the second.
You must confess
things on your udder.

I will provide;
I am your forgiver.

Range and home:
your personal Jesus.

To feel is unknown, and
you own your belief. From
range and contact, belief is
only flesh and leg. By all the telephones,
I will turn and lift the believer recipient.
With whom will I provide you? A forgiver? I
alone am into you.
From range and contact: belief.
(your own personal Jesus)
From range and contact: belief.

Milk Shake (Kelis)

Language: Dutch

It's hard for me to come up with anything to say about this one, but then, I could never come up with much to say about the original song, either.

-Jessi

{X} My milk shake brings boys to all the yards,
and they are better than you. As it is,
damn better than you. It is my right:
I must charge, but you could teach me.

My milk shake brings boys to all the yards,
and they are better than you. As it is,
the right is better than you. Damn.
I must charge, but you could teach me. {/X}

I want it from you,
the thing that makes me want.
The guys go out crazily
because their opinions lose them.
I have moaned in the manner in which I
think. It's time.

{y:} Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer:
guard it warmly.
Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer –
the boys.
Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer,
warm drawers on it.
Drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer, drawer:
the boys wait. {/y}

{X}

I see you,
for you want me. Are
these boys freaks that teach techniques?
Only captive robbers cannot be bought.
Watch it, if you are malignant.

{y}

{X}

Oh, as soon as everyone is involved, you
will look at this.
So, you must maintain that charm of yours.
(Halo time!) Maintain your
perfect mixture the same, only become
more. What will you then
have, afterwards? Then he eyes
your squint. Be taken to scent.

She-Battle (Cyndi Lauper)

Language: Dutch

And the somewhat anticlimactic conclusion of the Bop Trilogy. I say "anticlimactic" because there's no "bop" anywhere in the song now, so you wouldn't know it was part of the trilogy without outside knowledge of the song. This might be a pecularity of Dutch, to translate "bop"s. On the other hand, if you had to come up with a word to turn "bop" into, you could do a lot worse than this.

-Jessi

Well, tonight I see each of them in tight blue jeans –
boys in the blue pages of an illustrated magazine.
I've thought well of ultrasound. Hey,
oop, I take a new sensation from the she-battle.

Huh. I assume a lion wants to roar with the
south. Wanna get me? I'll go, yes. What's more,
a twinge saves nine on time, they say. Hey,
I'll improve that: if a blind person says to them, "end
the she-battle," then the she-battle will go. Oop!

She battle, he battle, we battle,
I battle, you battle, they battle-battle,
Lu's a battle, she's a battle,
(I'll battle Lu. Does she battle?)
Oo, oo, she-battle, she battles them.

Hey-hey, they say I chaperone
because I can't stop making a mess in the dangerous area.
I will make myself better; and I'm not worried, no.
Still, the law will annoy. (Ain't against it: no, no.)
Oop, they battle, the battle becomes them.

She battle, he battle, we battle,
I battle, you battle, they battle-battle,
Lu's a battle, she's a battle,
(I'll battle Lu. Does she battle?)
Oo, oo, she-battle, she battles them.

The Devil Decreased to Georgia (Charlie Daniels Band)

Completing the trilogy of songs that played on my parent’s preferred radio station when I was young and that impressed upon me the consequences of the choices one makes in life, is this, a song that my parents then and I now view with a certain amount of embarrassment. The sheer literalness of the Faustian bargain portrayed here is why one cannot listen to a good 60% of Christian Rock without being overcome by confused pity, but here the hard shellac of 25 years of irony helps out a bit.

Was “Country” better before it lost the vestigial tail “-and Western”? I don’t know, but I like how Johnny wins not by outwitting the Devil by discovering a small technical loophole in the contract or something like that (which smacks of Elitist East Coast Liberalism), but simply by dint of the fact that Being an American Automatically Means You Are Better Than the Devil (which was John Abizaid’s runner-up name).

Just look at Charlie Daniels:
Was this the face that lunched a thousand chips?
And ain’t that America?

N.B. In Russia, the Devil goes up to Georgia, a nice touch, but this is from the Dutch, where the sun increases and Old Scratch must decrease. Gentlemen, start your monotonic functions.


--Samantha Moss


The devil decreased to Georgia. He sought a soul to steal.
He in was binds because he was mannered, and he was prepared to make an agreement.
Then he, concerning these young people came who play, saw and it on fiddle hot
And the devil on hickory stump jumped and said: “The boy let me tell you which --
I assume you it did not know, but I am also fiddle player
And as the care you’d to take dare, I now into a bet with you.
You turn rather good fiddle-game, but give the devil, to boy, to have been appropriate:
I bet fiddle of gold against your soul, because I think I improve be then you.”

The boy said: “Johnny of my name, and it a sin can be,
But I will take your bet, you will regret, because I am the bests that ever.”

Johnny, you resin up your arc and plays your fiddle hard
Because the hell break separately in Georgia
And the devil the cards address.
And, if you win, you get this gleaming fiddle which are golden,
But if you lose, get the devil your soul.

The devil put its case open and he said: “I this show to start,”
And the fire flew of its finger tops since he are up arc rosined.
And he drew the arc concerning its ties and it made an angry “SIS” consonance,
Then joined a link of demons, and it sounded something as this

[music containing the “SIS” consonance -SM]

Then, the concluded devil, Johnny said: “Are well, you rather good, Old Son,
But will sit as that President, right, and one can there you show how it would be done

Do the fire on the mount, lope, youngsters, lope
The devil in the house of increasing sun
Chicken in the bread needle, which paste
“Granny selects, your hound bite do?”
“No, child, no.”

[music that is frankly less interesting than the earlier music -SM]

The devil bent its head because he knew that he’d beat
And he empty that golden fiddle said on the spot at the feet to Johnny
Of Johnny: “The devil comes only on back if you want ever try again
Because I you once told, you son of a female is,
I the bests that ever.”

And he played fire on the mount, lope, youngsters, lope,
The devil in the house of increasing sun
Chicken in the bread needle, which paste
“Granny selects, your hound bite do?”
“No, child, no.”