Say It to Yourself, Say It to Me (Lionel Richie)

Language: Spanish

And I am employed again. Barely, but still. I got a job at the greenhouse / garden center in town that I like, and where about a third of my 200-odd houseplants originally came from, and this is a good thing, though I don't actually know what kind of wages I'm getting. Or what my hours will be. Or how many hours there might be. Or whether I'm physically up to the job: there's a lot of lifting, which doesn't worry me that much, but then there's also a lot of work in very warm, humid conditions, and I am not very good at dealing with heat. I hate summer, I hate humidity, I hate heat. So, naturally, I get a hot, humid job in the middle of the summer.

I'm also severely underslept: I was anxious about the job last night, plus thinking about a previous job that ended catastrophically and which I'm still not entirely over, and so when I woke up at 3:30 AM I found myself unable to go back to sleep again.

There's potential for this new job to be good, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I always expect new jobs to turn into that one. Makes stuff scarier than it really has to be. I'll let you know.

The song here, which didn't wind up being terribly good after Babelfishing, was one that I heard a lot when I was at the catastrophic job. There are (mostly pleasant) associations.

-Jessi

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

[a] Say it to yourself, say it to me; always say that, for
it must be that way.
Say your opinions to me, who is;
say it naturally, together.

That'll have an ideal, impressive dream: had
people in the park played games in the darkness?
What he played was masquerade, and
he shouted outside, "Behind walls of doubt and a voice!"

[a]

Because we go under the solitary highway of life,
we must find a friend (the hardest thing to seem to do.): we
understand the hand that helps. Some of the two, she or whomever,
feel that you have lost your way. When (to him)
you have some there to demonstrate, to say I will --

[a]

So you think you know the answers. Oh, no, you
have the entire world! Because to him, the dances
are correct. I'm saying to him, that one,
that it is the hour to begin to think; oh,
you are shining, yes. Who are you? A star that she creates?

[a]

say it naturally, together.

Fifty Ways to Leave His Lover (Paul Simon)

Language: Spanish

When the husband and I moved into our current apartment, he signed us up for DirecTV, among other things, because it was kind of a bargain, the way that Qwest and DirecTV had it arranged. Since then, many, many things have gone wrong.

DirecTV, at least in our area, comes with two satellite dishes, one for local channels and one for everything else. The one for everything else hasn't really caused us any problems, but the one for the local channels was installed so that it was pointed right into a tree. For the first couple months, this was a problem, because the leaves of the tree block enough of the signal that all our local channels cut in and out unpredictably. And we called DirecTV about this, and they told us that there was a software upgrade they could do, or something like that, and they talked the husband through a reinstallation of the card that programs the receiver, and stuff like that, but it didn't really get any better until winter happened, when the tree shed its leaves.

So all winter, we could watch TV just fine, and we knew that this was going to suck when the tree grew leaves again, but there wasn't anything else to be done, really -- the guy who came to install the dishes didn't tell us that he was pointing one of the dishes directly into a tree, and he didn't tell us that this might cause problems with the reception, and as far as I know, DirecTV customer support never asked, even, if there was anything blocking the signal.

When the tree leafed out and we began having problems again, DirecTV said that they'd be happy to send someone out to fix it for us, but they'd have to charge us for a service call, which I don't remember how much that was but it was a lot more than we wanted to pay. Considering that none of this was our fault, and that we weren't told that the installer was going to have to point the dish into the tree, and this was, therefore, entirely DirecTV's fuck-up, asking us to pay anything to get it fixed was, frankly, a little insulting.

Of course part of the deal was that we had to commit to a whole year of service from them, so we are only now getting around to the point where we can start thinking about getting out of the deal and having something else put in instead. The husband called DirecTV yesterday to get the service cancelled (and the weasels hung up on him, put him on hold for half-hour stretches more than once, tried to argue that our contract actually extended a month longer than it was supposed to, and all manner of other corporate vileness), and today we're supposed to have a cable guy come in and give us regular, good old-fashioned cable TV like Mom used to make. Which means I have to be around here all day, but it wasn't like I was anxious to go anywhere anyway.

So, moral of the story: the service provided by DirecTV isn't that great to begin with. They're awful to deal with in the event of technical problems, and you will almost certainly have technical problems. Where they're not malicious, they're greedy; where not greedy, they're inept. Save your money. Read books if you have to. Just don't sign up with DirecTV.

And, Qwest -- you might want to rethink your business partners here. Associating yourself with DirecTV is not going to make anybody think more highly of you or the service you offer.

-Jessi

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

The problem within his head is everything, she said to me,
if the answer is easy. Are you taking that logically?
She wanted to help him in his fight to be free.
There must be fifty ways to leave me to your lover.

She said, "Not to impose, really: my habit is
hope (or meaning -- in addition,
I interpreted that so it isn't lost to me; it isn't bad),
but I will repeat myself." At the risk of being crude,
There must be fifty ways to leave me to your lover,
fifty ways to leave me to your lover.

[a]
As soon as the cat's rear part slips,
they formulate a new plan. They're you, Stan.
No, Roy, they just need to be timid.
Get the free jump in the bus, Gus:
we don't need to discuss that much.
The key is the right drop of the lees,
and geting itself to freedom.

[a]

I said, "To see him is in such pain, so troubled,
could make a smile." (That desire had something to do with it.)
I said, "Please. That esteem again? Would you explain that to him,
on the fifty ways, and --"

She said, "Because we don't sleep, do it tonight, as soon as they both
begin to see the light in you, and I will create him in the morning,"
and then she kissed me. (She was probably right to.) And I realized that
there must be fifty ways to leave me to your lover,
fifty ways to leave me to your lover.

[a] [a]

Or Superman (Laurie Anderson)

Language: Spanish

And the third song in the Superman trilogy. This didn't wind up all that far from the original song -- sometimes there isn't a lot to work with. That's how it is sometimes. I believe I've made my feelings for Laurie Anderson quite clear in a previous post; that kind of leaves me without a whole lot to say right now. Plus I've only just gotten up -- it's between 9:30 and 10 AM, but I haven't been sleeping well for the last four or five days. So I'm not really able to come up with much to say about this post.

Looking at the picture, there, I realize that the husband and I never did see that movie. We intended to. People said it was good at the time; I don't know whether or not it actually was. There just always seemed to be better things to do, somehow.

-Jessi

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

Superman's Mama, or Dad. And / or "Judge Dad."
Mama, or judge, or Papa and / or Mother. Or "Superhombre and Mother-Papa."
Hi.
I'm not homemade now.
But if you wish to leave a message, that speaks right at the beginning sound of the tone.
Hello? This one is its mother. Are you there? You're coming to the house?
Hello? He's a caretaker? Well, you don't know me, but I know him,
and I have a message to give him.
Here the planes come.
So you better get a list ready to go. You can come as you are, whereas you go pay.
But payment is as you go.

And I said: AUTHORIZATION. Who's this one, really?
And voiced this: This one is the hand, the hand that takes.
This one is the hand, the hand that takes. This one is the hand, the hand that takes.
Here come the planes. They are flat Americans; America, in fact. Smoking or not-smoking?
And voiced this: neither the snow, nor rain, nor the nightly discouragement,
will complete the fasts of these messengers. They remain
because of their designated round ones.

When the love goes away, there is always justice.
And when justice goes away, there is always force.
And when the force goes away, there is always Mother. Hi, Mother!

Hold me so, Mother, in your long arms.
Hold me so, Mother, in your long arms.
In your automatic arms, your electronic arms. In your arms.
Hold me so, Mother, in your long arms.
Your arms of petrochemical products. Your arms of the military. In your electronic arms.

Joy to the World (Three Dog Night)

Language: Spanish

Another placeholdery post. I could come up with something to say, probably, under normal circumstances, but I just got back from riding my bike not too long ago and my body and brain haven't entirely recovered from the heat and exertion yet. I will say that although I'm not, as a rule, fond of music written between about 1963 and 1983¹, I actually like this one okay. Frogs are nice.

-Jessi

¹(I don't know why.)

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

Jeremiah was a frog, a bullfrog,
was my good friend:
he never said a single word.
I helped him to drink, but who understood his wine?
(He always had a certain and
powerful singing of the fine wine.)

[a]
Joy to the world!
All the joy of the boys and the girls is
into the blue depths now. The fish
from the sea are joy to you and me.

If the king of the world were outside,
what would he do? Say it to me:
the cars would send the bars and the war far away, and
the sweet love does that to him. It sings
to him now.

[a]

You know that love of the ladies? That's for me.
My diversion has a love
of life; I'm the high aviator.
I threw the rider and a son-of-one-weapon straight to that rainbow; I
said, a son-of-one-weapon threw that straight.

[a]

The Star-Star-Spangled Flag (Francis Scott Key)

Language: Spanish (obviously)

I am not, by nature, a big joiner of things. I've never had any "school spirit," never given a damn about any particular sports team (save for a brief period around kindergarden when I was fond of the Miami Dolphins football team, but that was bleed-over from being interested in dolphins; I never developed any comprehension of football because of it), and as an adult, don't belong to any organizations where the process for membership is any more arduous than donating money (and even then, I'm prone to let the membership lapse). I prefer the Democratic Party, but I don't consider myself a member (any political party I'd consider myself a member of wouldn't piss me off so damn often). I throw away the Baylor Alumni magazines when they arrive, and keep meaning to write and try to get the Alumni Association to stop sending them to me.

I am, consequently, not given to big displays of pride. I like Iowa, and am native to Iowa, but there's something kind of unseemly about being proud of Iowa.¹ My ethnic heritage is, for all intents and purposes, meaningless to me, and I am endlessly baffled by the husband's level of identification with the Irish. In fact, as a general rule, I don't understand why anybody takes pride in anything that they themselves didn't have a pretty free hand in creating or shaping. I mean, I get that it's more emotional than rational, that I'm getting nonsensical answers because I'm asking the wrong questions, but still.

I can, however, be very easily embarrassed by groups that I have (even very loose) affiliations with. The most typical occasions for such embarrassment are Baylor University (my almometer²) or the Democratic Party, both of which are doing dumb things all the time, but the shame's not limited to those two by a long shot.

And lately, like for the last ten years³, being an American has been a first-class ticket to Shameville (with a six-hour layover in Disbelief City), though when I look back into the country's history, I'm not convinced that things haven't always been this bad. But even so: more people than just me have noted that we're going through an especially dark time in American history right now. I think I remember something about a record number of people (72%?) in some recent poll saying that the U.S. was "on the wrong track," which could just mean that people think gas prices are too high, or that the Pussycat Dolls are obviously inferior to the Spice Girls⁴ -- but there's more than that. Or at least I hope people are picking up on more than that.

If this makes me unpatriotic, then so be it, I guess. Though I'm at least not flying the Nazi or Confederate flags (which, let's remember, we've fought Nazis in a war somewhat recently, and they were the bad guys. And the Confederates wanted to rip the country in half. I mean, if you want to talk about lack of patriotism, then let's talk, motherfucker.). I worry about shit like that picture, what it means. Suppose 1993 is as good as the country's going to get, in my lifetime. What then?

-Jessi

¹Feeling that it's unseemly to feel proud of Iowa is itself a very Iowan thing, as is feeling a certain smugness when comparative state statistics are released showing Iowa to be superior to some of the more self-aggrandizing states (Texas, I'm looking at you) in some way.

²(a David Foster Wallace coinage, as far as I know)

³(Roughly the beginning of my political awareness; previously I had been congenitally Republican.)

⁴(true. Destiny's Child also pales in comparison, though in fairness I would probably like DC better had I not been endlessly involuntarily exposed to it when it was popular. The Spice Girls, in turn, are inferior to TLC, Bananarama, En Vogue, Salt-n-Pepa, the Pointer Sisters, the Supremes, Wilson Phillips, and any number of other girl groups. In fact, I think the Spice Girls -only- beat out Destiny's Child and Pussycat Dolls, now that I think about it.)

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

Can you see, by the early light of dawn or an opinion of yourself,
what we hailed in the last of the twilight, flashing so proudly
that ample rays and shining stars fought with the dangerous?
We watched on embankments, so we flowed gallantly.
And the red fulgor of the rockets, the pumps that exploded in air
gave the night a test: our flag was still there.
are you of the opinion that the star-spangled flag still shakes stars
on the home of the free, brave one and the Earth?

The Promise of a New Day (Paula Abdul)

Language: Spanish

I've been wanting to do a Paula Abdul song for ages, but the first attempts ("Forever Your Girl" and "Vibeology") fell as I was taking them out of the oven¹, so eventually I lost interest. But then I found interest again, apparently.

Greenhouse update: went in again on Tuesday and was told that they're not going to do any actual hiring until after Valentine's Day. So continued limbo. Though Valentine's isn't actually that far away, I suppose. Even so. The promise of a new day, or job, or whatever, is not interchangeable with an actual new day.

So the husband and I have decided to have a "Closure Party" for my fellow cashiers (except the one I'm not very fond of²) on Friday night. Which might be fun. I'm not sure. I haven't hosted a collegey drinking party like this in like ten years, and I'm not sure that most of those went all that well. Having low standards certainly helped. But we'll see. It should be fine. I suppose the worst that could happen is, husband and I get hauled off to jail for giving alcohol to minors and it forever ruins our chances of holding professional jobs or traveling anywhere else in the world and drives us into bankruptcy. Some of those things have already happened, so I'm not losing sleep over it. I sure as hell don't care if I'm forever known as a crappy hostess.

-Jessi

¹So to speak. And actually with "Vibeology" it was more like the souffle exploded and then turned into roofing tar, truth be told.

²Nothing wrong with her. I'm sure she's a nice person and she loves Jesus and puppies and her mother and everything. But we'd never really talked, and when we did talk she rubbed me the wrong way, somehow, and space in the apartment was a concern already, so it didn't take much of a push to convince me that she didn't really need an invitation. Also she has nebulous connections to the family who owned the place, and as there seems to be some bitterness towards said family from certain of the invitees, it's a little risky to invite someone who might eventually carry gossip back. Though in fairness it couldn't really matter if gossip were carried back anyway: what could they do, lay everybody off again?

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

An eagle called his well-known ones, and then he
returned to bring winds and tides, giving the change.
Why do I do it? I feel this way:
the promise of a new day.

[a]:
The promise,
the promise of a new day, is
like that time the Earth moved closer. Under my feet, more
complete love makes a step.
The promise of a new day has the final opinion.

[a][a]

[b]:
What terms will change the world in a certain time?
Nobody knows that,
so the only promise to give is a day to live,
and part the one with the other.

Considering the wisdom of our past errors,
to hear the youngest generation ask
"Why do I do it this way?" feels so
new: the promise of a new day.

[a][b]

(Repeat song)

Of the Unpretty (TLC)

Language: Spanish

When this song was first released, and went into seemingly endless rotation on MTV (this being back in the days when MTV played music occasionally, if not all the time), I initially liked this song. Most of us have to deal with these feelings one way or another, from time to time. Maybe men not so much, though I'd be surprised if guys escaped the feeling entirely. Anyway.

But then eventually it dawned on me that hey, how sympathetic can TLC really be to feeling ugly in the first place? I mean, even if they really were, they have teams of highly-trained professionals to spend hours on their hair and nails and makeup and lighting and photography, plus hordes of adoring fans available at the drop of a hat to tell them how wonderful and beautiful they are. I mean, I get that it's about how you feel about yourself, and this feeling isn't necessarily going to respond to what other people tell you about yourself if you don't really feel pretty, but damn.

There was also the fact that it was suddenly cool, for a little while there, to be a beautiful person writing music about beautiful people who felt somewhat less than beautiful. (The example that leaps to mind is "Beautiful Girl," by INXS, but I know there were others that I just can't think of at the moment.) Who, it should be noted, aren't really the people who need reassurance in the first place, given that they get breaks all over to begin with, by virtue of being pretty. And 'cause there are some genuinely fugly people out there who could probably stand to hear nice songs about themselves too, and (I imagine) never do.¹

I'm just saying.

The other thing I want to point out is that there exists such a thing as the World Beard and Moustache Championships (link), and nobody writes songs about them. Maybe ZZ Top. But nobody else.

-Jessi

¹Related but still tangential: in the show "Ugly Betty," are we as the audience supposed to sympathize with her because we're not all supermodelly either, or supposed to enjoy seeing her treated badly because that's how we would treat her if we worked there and could get away with it? Or is the ambiguity the whole point, that we're supposed to want to be cruel and hate the people who are being cruel?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

His desire could tie my shoes, for
I also do that unpretty sensation to him.
"That was beautiful," he said to me,
"but that means it makes you cautious."
There, in the mirror's interior, the
one with the long hair -- that is
the same old me again, yes. (For today.)

[a:]
The glance refreshes my outsides;
my interiors are blue.
Everytime I think that I'm with him,
it's due to you.
I've tried diverse ways, but
at the end of the day, all are equal: the one
I must blame is myself.
Am I right to shoot?

[b]
You can buy hair, if you don't grow it;
he can fix his nose (if you say so to him).
You can buy everything marked up, for
the man: you can do that.
But, if you cannot watch inside yourself,
I'll discover who you are also.
Done to me in that position, the sensation is
unpretty, so, damn, I'll do it to him!
(The unpretty sensation is also never uncertain.)

I satisfied him until now.
I'm being stupid:
I used to be so pretty to myself
(a little skinny), hardly
watching all these things. Why do I do it?
To maintain happiness? To
(perhaps) get to him ruined for you?
Then again, I got myself (hey), and

[a]

[b]

[b]

of the
Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh (oh)
Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh (oh)

[b]

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.

-Jessi

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

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.

Wonderful Class of the Love (Phil Collins)

Language: Spanish

This is a high school song for me; a friend of mine (whose initials were also J.G., incidentally) liked it, I think, for the cheesiness. Or possibly she didn't like it, and she just liked mocking it. It's really hard to tell. Maybe her mother liked it, and J.G. just liked it because it was familiar: this is a definite possibility, since her mother also had lots of Linda Ronstadt and Barbra Streisand laying around the house. Which reminds me -- I should totally do "Don't Know Much" sometime.

Anyway. Phil Collins is a tool, but this can't really be news to anybody. And dorkitude and coolness are only inversely related up to a point: when you become enough of a wanker, any further geekiness only makes you cooler. I don't think Phil Collins is at this point yet (he's very close, I think, to the point of minimum coolness, down there with Michael Bolton, Will Ferrell, and Celine Dion), but it's happened for other people (e.g. Zamfir, Tammy Faye Baker, etc.).

-Jessi

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

I must do everything when I'm feeling blue: what
a glance you must take, then. I'm not so blue
when you are near me. I can feel his heart fight itself, like
you. Can you hear that breathing, near my ear, which
you obtained? Baby, you wouldn't agree to a wonderful class of love.

You always returned to give me your wish, on your can.
In all things and at any times: any that you wish.
Ooh, when I shake the lips, beginning to kiss,
I cannot control the interior that you shake.
Baby, you wouldn't agree that you obtained a wonderful class of the love. Ooh . . .

I must do everything when I am feeling blue: what
must you take later? A glance? I'm not so blue
when I am in its arms. Nothing I look like concerns me.
My entire world could break: you care?
Baby, you wouldn't agree, that you obtained a wonderful class of the love.
We obtained a wonderful class of love,
we obtained a wonderful class of love, ooh,
we obtained a wonderful class of love.

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

The Ballad of Jed Clampett (Paul Henning)

(from the Spanish)

TV Theme Song Friday manages to fall on a Friday this week. Merrill Markoe once asked Sherwood Schwartz why the theme songs he wrote for Gilligan’s Island and The Brady Bunch were so explicit in explaining each show’s premise and he said something like “Because confused people can’t laugh.” That little bit of show biz acumen was possessed by Schwartz’ predecessor: Paul Henning (right), theme song writer for and series creator of “The Beverly Hillbillies” (and producer of its more Dadaist inverse, “Green Acres”; also “Petticoat Junction”, though neither of those songs were performed by Flatt and Scruggs, like this one).

A critic whose name I can’t find apparently summed up the show as “one joke, nine years”; I say, there’s no shame in that.

Thank you, Paul Henning; if you were alive, I'd tell you about what happened with the “Texas Tea” line and we would laugh with confusion (in Spanish: “¡Ja ja ja!”) and then we'd talk about how well this show would go over if set in modern day Mexico: 40% of the population is looking for this kind of escapism.
If only they could afford TVs.
(Please get your people working on this, whoever ended up winning.)

--Samantha

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

It comes and it listens to my history on a named man Jed.
To mountaineer: poor. Hardly kept to his feed from the family.
Then, a day, it threw in a little food,
And raises of the Earth comes a gross petroleum that bubbled:
Black gold of the oil, that is to say, tea of roofing tiles

The first thing, you, you know a millionaire: Jed as an older person.
Kinfolk said, “Jed, movement far from there.”
They said, “California is the place that you ought to be,”
So they loaded upon the car and they were transferred to Beverly:
Swimming pools of hills, that is to say, cinema stars.

Beverly! The hillbillies!

[Closing credits verse:]

Now is the hour to say good bye to Jed. And all their kinships
Wanted to thank for people, to him, amiably to fall inside.
You are everything. Behind, invited the week next to this place.
Helping that piles up of its hospitality:
Hillbilly, that is to say, has fixed an enchantment, acquittal of your shoes,
You that now becomes everything? You, you hear?

Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)

Language: Spanish

There's a benzoin / novocaine mixture out there that's marketed as a canker sore reliever. The novocaine numbs the sore, and the benzoin covers it up so it can heal. It's pretty cool. I have some left over from a few weeks ago, so I tried it on the throat a few days ago, and it worked well enough, so I've kept it up.

I often gag myself while trying to put it on: the wound (or whatever the hell it is) is far enough back there that I can't see it very well when I'm trying to put the stuff on, and since the applicator that comes with the thing in the first place is much too short to be useful for something toward the back of the throat, I've had to improvise with Q-tips and a plastic tube, so the actual process is mostly just me making various blind swipes in the general vicinity, one of which inevitably gets too close to the uvula, and then I gag for a bit.

Also there's often some incidental drooling.

But it's worth it, because once the novocaine kicks in, I get to stop hurting for a little while.

(Yes, I am going to try to see a doctor on Monday.)

Speaking of gagging: here's a Pink Floyd song I don't especially care for.

-Jessi

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

Hello?
Anyone has it inside there?
Right. . . . Can you hear me pitching if
there are any homemade people?
Advanced, now:
I hear that one of you is feeling down.
Well I can facilitate his pain, and
get his feet to him again.
Relax,
I need certain information first.
The basic facts can hardly
demonstrate to me where you hurt.

There is no pain; you're backing down, the
smoke of a distant ship in the horizon.
You're only coming to traverse waves.
Their lips move, but I can't hear what they're saying.

When he was a boy, he had a fever.
My hands felt like jousts, like two globes.
Now and again, I get that sensation.
I cannot explain: you wouldn't understand.
This one isn't how I am.
I'm done, comfortably numb.
(Authorization:)
Hardly a small pinch.
It won't have more, won't . . . Aaaaaahhhhh!
You can feel a little ill, but
can you be unemployed?
I believe that he's working above, for good.
That'll go for your demonstration of subsistence:
the hour to go comes upon him.

There is no pain; you're backing down, the
smoke of a distant ship in the horizon.
You're only coming to traverse waves.
Their lips move, but I can't hear what they're saying.

When he was an ephemeral boy, I took a glance,
outside that corner of my eye. The
I returned the glance, but it was going.
I can't put my finger in him now.
They grow toward the boy; the dream goes away.
I'm done, comfortably numb.

Theme of the Street of Sesame (Joe Raposo)

Language: Spanish

TV Theme Song Friday happens on a Sunday this time around. Maybe we should be calling it Every Eighth Day TV Theme Song.

Are there any Spanish-speakers in the audience who could explain why "Joe Raposo" gets turned into "Joe Fox," but "fox" by itself gives "Zorro?" Are there multiple words for foxes in Spanish, or is Babelfish confused?

-Jessi

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

Sunny day
that sweeps clouds far,
to where the sweet air is in my way:
can you say how I'm to obtain,
how to obtain the street of sesame?

A-OK. All the neighbors come from a friendly game, and
we satisfy it there, where it is.

Can you say how I'm to obtain,
how to obtain the street of sesame?

It is a magical stroll on the carpet;
like you happy people, in that each door will open –
wide like a beautiful happy people.

Sunny day
that sweeps clouds far,
to where the sweet air is in my way:
can you say how I'm to obtain,
how to obtain the street of sesame?
How to be to the able street of sesame
How to obtain...

The Candle in the Wind (Elton John)

Language: Spanish

My main association with this song is from an episode of the "Buffy: the Vampire Slayer" spin-off "Angel."

Harmony, a shallow and ditzy blonde girl who has become a shallow and ditzy blonde vampire, is at a karaoke bar, trying to decide on a song to sing:

Harmony: Now what do you think: "Candle in the Wind," or the Princess Diana "Candle in the Wind?"

Cordelia: Go nuts. Do 'em both.

Exactly why Elton John couldn't have just written a new song for Princess Diana, as opposed to making Marilyn share, I'm not sure. I mean, writing songs is more or less his job: he should be able to handle it. It wouldn't have had to be all that good. But I suppose famous young blonde chicks don't keel over every day, and you have to strike while the iron is hot, or something. And blurring the line between the two celebrities makes it even less about the character of the actual person who's died, and more about the feeling that someone pretty is gone and therefore you should be sad.

I dunno. In any case, the song is still slightly defective. You're pretty much limited to women, and more to the point, women who have gone from lower-middle class to upper class very rapidly. If I were Sir Elton, I'd write a sad generic eulogy that could work for anybody from Li'l Kim to Ken Lay, and then wait for the next celebrity to go. You know Dick Cheney's ticker only has just so many more beats left in it: you wouldn't have to wait long.

But then, I'm kind of a cynical bitch. I'm sure Sir Elton's motives were pure as the driven in both cases, and in no way related to maintaining his flagging celebrity in the face of impending bankruptcy.

-Jessi

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

Goodbye, Jean. Norm
never knew you, although in him, all
you had was the tolerance to maintain yourself.
Whereas those around you crawled:
they crawled on the wood crafts.
His brain whispered, and it
fixed the squirrel wheel. And that, to him,
that did change your name.

That looks like me. You lived it, your life,
as a candle in the wind
that knew never to cling. In whom,
and when, inside the system of rain?
I have wanted to know.
A young boy was only right to me:
his candle burns long.
Its legend was always made before.

The solitude was resistant:
you always played more resistant than paper.
Hollywood created a superstar,
and the pain was the price you even paid
when you died.
Oh, the press still persecuted:
the papers had to say "all
was nude to him." Were Marilyn found in that, . . .

Goodbye, Jean. Norm,
the young man in the 22nd row,
considers himself like something more sexual than that. More like, hardly of
our Marilyn Monroe than . . . .

Sun Of the Jail (Soundgarden)

Language: Spanish

I almost want to say, this has got to be a glitch of some kind, but I hope it's not.

Black Hole, run through Spanish, returns Jail, but Black-Hole, with the hyphen, ends up Black-I pierce. It doesn't make sense for a hyphen to matter so much, but in any case you've gotta admit, equating jail and black hole is a pretty awesome thing for a language to do. Black holes as prisons for light waves, prisons as lightless holes: both ways it not only works but elucidates. Way to go, Spanish! (Or maybe Babelfish!)

-Jessi

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

Ill in my eyes,
nobody knows in disguises.
The serpent hides the face, lies
in the sun's heat. My boils of dishonor, that the
stench of the summer
watches underneath the dead black sky,
call my name through the cream,
and I will hear him shout again

Sun of the jail, you
don't come far
to wash rain.
The sun comes from the jail: you, you.

Not stuttering, humid cold
and tired wind robs hot friends.
The time for the honest men goes away,
and sometimes also serpents who wish.
My youth walks far in my shoes. A dream
and request to maintain
hell-sent sky.
Nobody sings more absently than you.

Sun of the jail, you
don't come far
to wash rain.
The sun comes from the jail: not
you, not you.

(Hang my head, drown my fear
as soon as you all disappear. . . .)

Loco (Patsy Cline)

Language: Spanish

Sort of a shout-out to my friend Liz, who I knew two jobs ago. (Hi, Liz!) More often than not, we used to sing this together whenever it came up on the stereo; it was a thing. Probably you had to be there. Anyway.

This could maybe have been stranger if I'd worked on it a lot longer, but there aren't really all that many words in it to work with, and half of them are the word "crazy," so this is probably as good as it gets within a reasonable period of time. One minor cheat here: Babelfish actually does translate "loco" back from Spanish into "crazy." I just undid that part of the translation because it makes it sound more interesting, and because I think "loco" is acceptable as an English word, as far as I know.

-Jessi

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

Loco,
a loco person to feel so single.
I am loco,
a loco person to feel so blue.

I knew
that you would love me while you wished,
and then someday
you would leave for somebody new.

Why do
I let preoccupation worry me?
Wond'rin'
what in the world I made?

Loco
to think that my love could maintain him.
I am loco for tryin' that,
loco for cryin' and I
am loco for lovin'.

Loco you,
to think that my love could maintain him
I am loco for tryin' that,
loco for cryin'
and I am loco for lovin' you.

Lithium (Nirvana)

Language: Spanish

This one was also done through Spanish. "It's not going to crack itself" is an interestingly ambiguous sentence: is it an assurance, or is it a declaration of impatience?

-Jessi

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

I'm so happy, 'cause I found my friends today. They're in my head.
I'm so ugly, but that is acceptable: you're so the cause. We broke our mirrors. Tomorrow is Sunday. He cares for me daily, and they don't scare me.
My cause ignites candles. I've found God in the glare.

yes [repeated]

It's acceptable that I'm so single. I shaved my head, and I'm not sad.
And perhaps I must just blame all that I've heard on myself.
And I'm not safe, so I'm excited. I can't hope to satisfy him there and not care.
I'm so calloused, but that's acceptable. My will is good.

yes [repeated]

I please him. It's not going to crack itself;
it needs. It's not going to crack itself.
I want to have you. It's not going to crack itself.
I'll kill him; it's not going to crack itself. [repeated]

I'm so happy, 'cause I found my friends today. They're in my head.
I'm so ugly, but that's acceptable: you're so the cause. We broke our mirrors. Tomorrow is Sunday. He cares for me daily, and they don't scare me.
My cause ignites candles. I've found God in the glare.

yes [repeated]

Man of Pianos (Billy Joel)

Language: Spanish

I did this one in Spanish as well, mostly because I was curious about what Babelfish would do with the "la la la" parts. So how'd that work out for me? Ennh. Could have been worse.

-Jessi

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

Saturday. The nine regular shufflers of the crowd
and an old man there next to me, making his tonic and gin love:

He says, "Son, could you play one melodically?
I'm not really safe; that's how it goes.
It's sad and sweet, and the Complete One knew it
when I borrowed the clothes of a younger man."

The one of the one of,
of gives of (of of),
gives of gives of gives of (of of).

Sing us a song, you are the man of pianos.
Sing us a song tonight,
we are all for humor,
in one melody, you feel us.

Now Juan in the bar is my friend
who gets to drink me for free,
and he's fast to ignite a joke with his smoke,
but he would be above, somewhere.
Something says, "I think that this account is slaughtered, send me."
The smile worked, far from his affluent face.
"I could be a cinema star if she were safe;
she could leave this place."

Oh, the one of the (the one of the),
one of the the one of gives: of, of, of,
gives of, gives of, gives of, of, of.

Now Paul is a real-estate-property-novelist
who never had time for a wife
and he is talkin ' with Davy
and he still has on navy
and he's probably for the military life.
And the waiter is politically practiced
as the businessmen get slowly spotted;
yes, they're sharing a drink called only "solitude,"
but drinking is better.

Saturday. It's a quite good crowd,
and the one in charge gives a smile
'cause he knows she's been comin' to see me
to forget the life awhile.
Sounds like a carnival piano
and the scent of the microphone is a beer
and they're feeling the bar, bread and opinions
in my jar, "Man, what are you doing here."

Oh, the one of the the one of,
the one of the the one of gives of
of of, gives of gives of gives of of of.

Return From San Francisco (Magnetic Fields)

Tonight: A Very Special Babelpop!

Language: Spanish

My husband is out of town this weekend (not in San Francisco but that's not important), and things around the Guilford estate are pretty low. So I decided that to cheer myself up, I'd try to do a topical song. Though this one probably doesn't count as "pop," (I doubt that it was ever a single), and isn't even entirely appropriate in places (like the ending), it's the best I could come up with in the fifteen minutes I spent thinking about it.

I didn't do as much of the customary elaborate twisting that I usually aim for, as a result of the exceptional circumstances.

-Jessi

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

Return from San Francisco –
that cannot be everything,
when you lack of all New York City.
The disc boys that you must,
distract them from your novel.
Remember enough that I am tremendously in love with you
You need me
as the the wind necessitates trees to blow inside
as the moon needs poetry
you need me

Return from San Francisco
and kiss me, I am unemployed, smoking.
I lack doing the wild thing with you.
I will remain myself – you, I don't think so
but what I do is all preoccupation.
Package the purses, call the taxis
and hurry them to me, to the house.

When you betray me
betray with the kiss that you curse.
Never I have remained upon this so late.