Friends in Low Places (Garth Brooks)

Language: German

Nothing much going on at the moment: the weekend kind of went by without anything getting accomplished (or even attempted), so this is just kind of a placeholder song.

On the more positive side, for a placeholder song, it's a really good one. A few very nice lines scattered around in there. Especially toward the ending.

-Jessi

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

He blames it all on my roots,
which I showed. In the loadings above,
I ruined your last affair of the black latch-plate.
In order to know
the latter, show me over to
the latter. Your thought was that
you'd see it.
And I saw the surprise:
his eyes can be in fear.
When I took his glass of champagne
and I roasted you, I said, "Honey, through
the weight, you heard me, but never myself."

[a]
Because friends of mine are in the low places,
in which the whisky and beer
drown my blue pursuits away.
I'm okay, and have
handled forms. I'm not social;
I thrash to Oasis. (Think on that!) The large are to slide
in low places. Oh, I have friends.

I estimated properties. I
wasn't wrong then; however, I belonged. As straight
as I was then, before, with
everything in order,
I didn't mean that. Good night, straight legend;
point me to the door. I and
he, I, a large fair
to cause a scene --
give me one hour and then
I'm as highly well as
this ivory essay, and
you live in that.

[a]

I'm not straight. I estimate I belong,
however. I was wrong then;
I've been there before.
I say everything straight, and am
completely good, right? That night has the facts,
and I point myself to the door.
I didn't mean for a large scene to cause
me to terminate this waiting period. Until the fair,
sweet, small glass lady
precedes me, then, I'm back to the staff.
And, I mean, you can kiss donkeys.

I Love Rock 'n Roles (Joan Jett and the Blackhearts)

Language: German

I think this one came out better than most. Something about the way "another dime comes into the jukebox" works out rhythmically appeals to me.

I don't really have any news or anything much to talk about. Still waiting to hear back about the job, though I think I'm hoping I didn't get it.

-Jessi

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

Seventeen: I saw him dancing by the record machine. I was to have been there.
(I could approximate it, which I did.)
The impact must go strongly.
My favourites were playing a song,
and I couldn't explain that to him
until he was with me. Yeah, I was singing, and you were longing.

I love rock, and roles;
therefore, another dime comes into the jukebox. You set a
rock in, and love rolls
the baby; thus, your time lasts, and I dance with myself.

He smiled, so I rose and asked for his name,
which he said doesn't constitute
the same thing (because he is a whole).

[a]
I mentioned your house, in which we could be alone.

And we shifted to following
it. Yeah, I was with myself.

First, we shifted to
it and sang. Yeah, I was with myself.

[b]
I love rock, and roles;
therefore, another dime comes into the jukebox. You used
the rock to roll your baby, and I love time,
so dance with me to the last.

[a]

We moved on
to sing the same old song.
Yeah, sing that with me:

[b]

Good-Bye to You (Michelle Branch)

("She's a sad tomato" --R. E. M., "Crush With Eyeliner")
Language: German

Well. So originally, the idea was to keep the store open until about the end of the month, but everybody's exhausted, and there's not much stuff left, so it's looking more like sometime this weekend. Possibly even today, though I think that's unlikely. In any case, it's going to be my last day.

Which is fine, though I still don't have anything to go to yet, not really having had the time to look into much. Still nothing from the possible job (which I really want -- plant-related). My co-workers mostly have moved on already, which good for them, I guess. I had hoped to maybe get everybody together one last time, ideally with alcohol, but I don't think there's time left to coordinate something like that, so probably nothing is going to happen to mark the occasion.

I don't actually know if I'm sad or not, but in either event, this is kind of an appropriate song. Goodbye to something, for sure.

UPDATE: Well, maybe not the last day after all. About a 50-50 chance I'm working Monday too. But for all practical purposes, today was it.

-Jessi

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

I believed all the things inside that, which
I would like to keep straight. Moreover, with it
behind my eyes, tears form,
but I do not cry.
Counting the past days leads me.

I descend into my soul, have deep
words, become old. I begin to search for that audition,
like I believe it again.
The last three straight years were pretend?
I said,

[a]
Good-bye to you,
good-bye to everything I thought. (I knew that.)
You were that which I loved,
the one thing I tried, which also held on.

I keep still in your eyes, lost
without you, and it seems that I cannot live. One day,
my thoughts closed away, and my eyes are
made blind by the light. I am in a place to hunt, which
isn't quite

[a]

At the same time, I wish nothing. It hurt to wish over everything, and
what is mine is theirs. And I wish . . . what?
I wish for you, which
this time, don't give it to me.

[a]

And if the stars fall,
I'm awake. You lied,
my shooting star.

Stayin' Alive (Bee Gees)

Language: German

Well. So the going-out-of-business sale continues apace, and the percent reduction in prices continues to increase (it's now up to 40%), and I'm hanging in there, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to be happy when it was over. Most days, we're selling about four times as much stuff as we were over Christmas, and there are about half as many people to do this, so I'm working, I figure, about nine times harder than I was just a few weeks ago. And even that was sometimes exhausting.

I have more or less made my peace with the closing, I suppose. I have one possible job to move to, though I haven't interviewed for anything, and it's been a few days now since I brought in the application and haven't gotten called back. Not sure if that signifies anything or not: I'd follow up by going in or something, except that I have no time in the morning to do anything, and I get home from work after this other place is closed already. So at least until the weekend, I guess I just have to keep my fingers crossed and hope to get a call.

The customers continue to be stupid. I try to help them regardless. I babysit their groceries¹, I find products for them (when we have then -- we're obviously out of a lot of things right now), I even double check to make sure that the discount is getting applied to all the stuff it's supposed to be getting applied to². And a lot of them whine and bitch and accuse me of keeping their receipts and act like I should carry their groceries a couple blocks out the door for them³ anyway. We're still getting the occasional question about whether there's a sale going on -- this two weeks after the original announcement was made, with about 3/4 of the items gone from the shelves, and giant-print signs by every entrance. God, I hate people.

-Jessi

¹A completely ridiculous percentage of customers, exclusively women over the age of 50, don't want to push a cart around or carry a basket: they want to leave their stuff at the checkout counter and then wander back and forth. I'm not sure why this is happening -- if carrying a basket is too heavy, then use a cart -- but the leading theory is pathological egocentrism. I am always tempted when people do this to start re-shelving their stuff, though so far I haven't.

²For some reason, certain products aren't in the system to take the discount. It's easy enough to figure out whether everything got it that was supposed to, and easy enough to correct if something didn't ring in right, but it does take extra time and effort.

³There actually is a customer like this. She has a bad back, she says. Also she has/had breast cancer. But she's so personally nasty -- mostly just to me -- that I come away a little disappointed that the cancer didn't finish her off. And she seems to think that because she has a bad back, we should be willing to carry her groceries up several flights of stairs to the parking garage next door for her. As opposed to her coming out of the parking garage and pulling up to our door like everybody else. I knew, the first time we agreed to do this for her, that it was trouble, because then she'd expect us to do it every other time. Yesterday was the first time in months that she ever didn't request that, but she ruined the moment by making a point of telling me that she would carry her stuff out herself, like I should be grateful or something.

She's also so slow one always suspects she's doing it on purpose to fuck with people, so every time she shows up, the lines start getting really long. She's never given any indication that she notices this or cares about it. I wish her tumors. Big honking tumors.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Explain to me the way property can use you.
I'm the man of a woman: no time to speak.
Music loud and warm, a woman myself,
I've stepped around since I was born.
And now it's completely OK. It is.
And you can look the other way.
We can try to understand
the effect of the New York Times on man.

Whether you are a brother, mother, or nut, you
remain alive, and remain alive.
He shakes the city, and each one who believes, breaks,
and remains alive, remaining alive for us.
Ah, hectar, hectar, hectar: lasting, and remaining alive.
Ah, hectar, hectar, hectar: lasting, alive.

Now, I keep low wells, and I keep high
also, and if I cannot receive, I really try not to.
My shoes' wings received the sky.
I'm not a dancing straight man, and I can lose.
They know that it's completely OK. It is.
I live in order to see another day.
We can try to understand
the effect of the New York Times on man.

Whether you are a brother, mother, or nut, you
remain alive, and remain alive.
He shakes the city, and each one who believes, breaks,
and remains alive, remaining alive for us.
Ah, hectar, hectar, hectar: lasting, and remaining alive.
Ah, hectar, hectar, hectar: lasting, alive.

Someone help me: life doesn't go anywhere!
Someone help me, yeah.
Someone help me: life doesn't go anywhere!
Someone help me remain alive, yeah.

Explain to me the way property can use you.
I'm the man of a woman: no time to speak.
Music loud and warm, a woman myself,
I've stepped around since I was born.
And now it's completely OK. It is.
And you can look the other way.
We can try to understand
the effect of the New York Times on man.

Whether you are a brother, mother, or nut, you
remain alive, and remain alive.
He shakes the city, and each one who believes, breaks,
and remains alive, remaining alive for us.
Ah, hectar, hectar, hectar: lasting, and remaining alive.
Ah, hectar, hectar, hectar: lasting, alive.

Someone help me: life doesn't go anywhere!
Someone help me, yeah.
Someone help me: life doesn't go anywhere!
Someone help me remain alive, yeah.

Mongoloid (Devo)

Language: German

When I was very little, like pre-third grade, my family attended a little Lutheran church where one of the parishoners had a son about my age (I think slightly older) with Down's Syndrome. I remember being unclear about what this "Down's Syndrome" thing was all about: among other things, I had trouble figuring out whether it was desirable or undesirable, and I think there was also confusion about whether it was voluntary. Mainly I remember my Mom talking to people about it a lot, and being told that when this boy did stuff that I found annoying (I don't remember what things), I should just ignore it, or get away, or deal with it in some fashion other than getting angry.

Which is probably where the confusion about desirable / undesirable came from, actually.

And then there was some renewed confusion, later, when Mom put an aspirin bottle insert about Reye's syndrome up on the inside of the bathroom door. To my six- or seven-year-old mind, a syndrome was a syndrome, and so I quickly reached the conclusion that Eddie (this was the boy's name, Eddie) had come to be the way he was because he'd taken aspirin, and was scared to death of taking aspirin myself.

One hopes that Eddie's out there somewhere, bringing home the bacon, though I guess it's statistically unlikely.

-Jessi

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

Mongoloid, he was mongoloid,
which is luckier than you and I were.
Mongoloid, he was mongoloid
and it determined what could be seen.
Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid,
one chromosome too much.
Mongoloid, he was that mongoloid,
and it determined what could be seen.

And he carried a hat, and had a job,
and he got the bacon to the house,
so, didn't anybody know
that he was mongoloid? Mongoloid:
his friends notionless.
Mongoloid was, mongoloid he was,
nobody was even interested.

Brides of Neptune (Cracker)

Language: German

Hi all. I know I've been slacking. Really it's just that various other hobbies are competing for my time, most notably the houseplant hobby / obsession. I'm sure it will get better eventually, but in the meantime, I have to say that it is nice to have some green things around, as the weather gets colder. Possibly I don't need seventy-seven green things. But still.

Meanwhile, there are a couple new items I'd like to direct your attention to, in the links: The Misadventures of Hello Cthulhu, though it seems to be, like Babelpop!, somewhat sporadically updated, is charming and funny and downright adorable and you should check it out as soon as possible. Unless you already knew about it. In which case, you should check it out whenever you get around to it.

The other one is Shemp Duchamp's "This is the New That." It's a lot easier to just go and look at it and figure out what it is than it is to continue reading my attempt to explain it, but it's basically a listing of the various combinations of the "The New Black" snowclone. I don't know how Shemp finds them, but in any case, it's sort of disorientingly amusing, or amusingly disorienting, to read through them.

Oh, and, I Babelfished a song, too.

-Jessi

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

She says that this is my film;
thus, you will do what I explain to you.
In Bali, she mixes up a gift –
you keep a hunted ape.

[a]
Brides of the cross, and Neptune's water,
get us your sons, and get your daughters for them.
I don't leave thee deep in the blue sea;
I'll take you to the house.

I tried to date one first;
she buys the first assistant's pot.
This mysterious charge
is still protected by apes.

then
[a x 4]

The brides of Neptune,
the brides of Neptune,

the brides of Neptune,
protected by the apes.

Baby Baby Baby (TLC)

Language: German

And now for the thrilling conclusion to the "baby" trilogy. . . .

The main thing I think about with respect to this song should be kind of obvious from the buildup thus far: how many "baby"s can a person fit into a song title before it becomes a joke? Opinions will differ, but I think anything more than three is excessive. Why? 'Cause threes seem "complete" to people. This is probably culturally determined. Maybe there's a culture somewhere where genies grant four wishes, and God is four persons in one, and so forth.

But I could be wrong.

This song kind of fell apart in translation, in a bad way, which happens sometimes. I'm going to blame the Germans.

-Jessi

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

And you wish for my love,
which is, well,
probably there for you morning, noon and night,
but you received goodness,
right? And it's
no time for part-time love in my life.

Would you like to be loved? Well, uh,
okay. He becomes
right with my sexuality, and falls in line with the cause,
but you received
a nickel to be applicable. You're receiving a
different cause, not receiving this "B time" for yourself, no.

[a:]
Oh baby, baby, baby:
I received as much
love in me, baby, baby, baby (Ooh, baby, baby), to
cause you to receive my will. If
you received me, dear, receive deeply.

My heart wells. I, uh, wish you
time, and my whole
understanding. Well, it's not there, if you cannot
employ a cause. (Which a girl like, uh, me
does not stand for less.)
I need my sex with much discussion.

[b:]
You know, I could possibly have a long man, since I wish that
the baby's based on actual facts. And who
decided you were around me? But I still
better work on you, so I don't flake it up, and . . .

Ohhhhhh

[a]

Baby, baby, baby:
there's no time for partial time. I love
to receive, but I did not receive as much love.
I love to be received, and
that becomes okay.

Baby, baby, baby --
a cause, if you will: I'm away from it. Receive
the deep love you received; I'll be
away for a long time. You receive me.

[b]

"My heart wells:" you wish.
And the whole time, my
understanding isn't there. Well it is: if you can't employ my
girl with a cause, as I do --
I do not stand for smaller ones;
I need much sex with my discussions.

[a]

Can I have each man whom I would possibly like?
And set aside time that I select too, to determine which?
I think you know that I would be with you, but . . . .

Yeah.
I'm actually here, and I'm rather based on facts. That
seems to run you straight back (which I also let that
order me away from you). To receive in
myself, to receive love, to receive love, I received it, to love myself.

[a]

Baby, baby, baby, it's time:
I would like to
determine whom to select (and I set that too),
but I think that you know that I would be with you (yeah).
Rather, I am actually here, and that is based on your facts.
You seem to let me run back.

As a Virgin (Madonna)

Language: German

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

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

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

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

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

-Jessi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!

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

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

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

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

They're Futile (Carly Simon)

Language: German

I believe Margaret Atwood once said something to the effect of, if you write something and call it nonfiction, then everybody will assume you made it all up, but if you call it fiction, then everybody wants to know who all the characters were in real life. This is interesting, to me.

Way too much time and thought has already gone into trying to figure out who this song is about. Check out the Wikipedia post on the subject. Granted, some of this is because Carly Simon herself has given conflicting answers on the matter, saying sometimes that the song is a composite of several lovers, and sometimes that it's a specific person, so she's partly to blame for the continued interest. But even so, the song seems to me like it's actually about her. Fuck the guy: you're supposed to be paying attention to what her experience was, and how she feels about it. No wonder the guy's vain: he's the part of the song the whole world is interested in. Forget Carly Simon.

-Jessi

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

You went into the party on a yacht. You went in such a way that
your hat, which was strategically immersed under an eye,
was an apricot. Your scarf
had an eye on the mirror, while you watched a gavotte.
All the girls would be your partners, and they
would be your partners, and . . . which ones of them?

You dreamed you're futile; thus, you think this song is probably over.
(Thus, you are futile.) I bet you're thinking that this song isn't
yours. That's not it?

Before you had me to unite the years, I was rather naïve. Still, when we
formed such a pretty pair -- well, we
would never go for that. And you,
however: you gave things away, one of which loved you. They were the dreams.
I had my coffee. Clouds were united with
clouds, and in my coffee...

She said I had some dreams, and clouded my coffee.
Clouds were in my coffee, and,
well, you went up to your horses in Saratoga. Naturally, I heard that and then flew
up to New Scotland in their Lear jet.
The sun was eclipsed, over
there where you saw the time. You should see well; you won.
(And if not, you are that whole you with
any underworld spy.) The close woman friend of a
close friend is a woman, and is.

You Swing Like a Hurricane (Scorpions)

Language: German

Special greetings to visitors from buzzhouse.com and skafunkrastapunk.com!

German is a special language in a lot of ways, but it's particularly nice when it comes to the verb "to rock." Once sent through Babelfish and back, "rock" winds up "swing." (Any German-speakers in the audience who might be able to explain?) I don't think this particular song is the best possible example, and probably neither was "We Swing You" (Queen), but someday, I'll hit the right song, and then you'll see how great the rock-to-swing transformation is. This song just winds up sounding vaguely snooty.

Though let's give me extra self-referentiality points for using German on a band which is itself German.

-Jessi

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

In former times, the morning sun was from
yesterday evening, according to my cat.
She comes purring and quite shaken,
and scratches my skin in a way
which explains. Another such sin must be wrong.
The females are hungry: therefore
give their tariff well, and draw in
more of their days. Come around to
new places. To go,
I have to leave him: it's
time for an appearance.

I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.

My body burns; it begins to cry.
Off comes the desire, it loudly breaks the senses:
desire is in the framework.
Until fair breaks form,
she must loose her storm
with someone I select.
The nights are designating me:
must I go?
The hungry wolves are
let run. The appearance -- he
licks its lips, he's ready,
on the hunt for love
at the first pass this evening to win.

I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.
I'm here. You swing like a hurricane.

Physically (Olivia Newton John)

Language: German

I remember a sort of guilty confusion about this song, when I first heard it. I understood that there was something kind of dirty about it, or at least that there was dirty intent, but had no idea what this might be in reference to. And then it didn't help that it was frequently presented as being about aerobics, because of the video, which was in retrospect a pretty transparent ploy to keep the prudish from paying attention to the lyrics but managed to confuse me still further.

Also interesting: Olivia Newton-John is apparently the granddaughter of Max Born, who won the 1954 Nobel Physics Prize for his work on the probability density function of the Schrodinger Equation (q.v.). There's probably a joke to be made in there somewhere, but damned if I can figure out what it is. Some kind of "physics"/"physical" pun, no doubt.

-Jessi

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

I know the legends of all things; you received
a good discussion.
(May a touch straighten my form.)
I don't mean that you "know" yourself; what
took you to that familiar restaurant? That
film suggested
speaking to the left, then giving it anything.
It was horizontal.

[chorus:]
We leave you a systematical test, systematical test;
I would like to remain physical.
We leave a systematical test: receive it in
your body. Your body received the discussion, so leave me to hear it. Speak
your body to me; let me hear it speak.

I am, I am being good.
Patiently trying to hold my hands on the table,
I'll back this thing strongly. I get it,
if you know what I mean.

I is surely, you understands, my criterion, which
we know each other that, religiously
you began to know that you get from
the animal in me

[chorus 3 times]

We leave you an animal, animal,
I'll receive the animal:
it would like to be received. (The animal in us left.)
Hear me: your body lets itself speak.
Your body lets me hear itself speak.

Only Lucky If It Rains (Garbage)

Language: German

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

-Jessi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paint It (Rolling Stones)

Language: German

The husband and I are moving at the end of the month, or possibly slightly before; for the moment, we're trying to repaint the new place, so the landlord can get in and re-carpet, so we can move our stuff, so we can clean the old place, and so on and so forth. I spent about 7 hours painting yesterday; he spent longer. Thus, this song.

We're not painting anything black, as far as I'm aware. White mainly, and then one room in baby blue (no, I'm not pregnant, but it's good to be prepared, right?), one room in "Derby Green," which is somewhere in between a regular green and a dark green, and then there's going to be a maroonish wall in the living room. That's it. But there turn out to be lots of, you know, surfaces, in the place. You know how these things work.

-Jessi

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I see it's black, and I didn't paint that red door black.
I wish it were black, or more colors, to
see. I wish the girl would turn to go in her summer clothes;
I mean, my density must turn to go, past a dressed head.

I see that line of cars, and they're all painted black.
My love, never to return with flowers, looks to see
people turn their heads to me.
Baby, you happen to them each day, straight as a newborn.

I look within me and see my black heart is
painted black. I see my red door and it
doesn't have facts, possibly: then I will be away, and
confront your simple world. It verges on the whole, if is black, not faded.

Any more saké? My blue sea goes a deeper green, a revolution.
This thing which you couldn't foresee happens.

If I adjust my sunned-in looks strongly enough,
my love will laugh with me when the morning comes.

I see that red door, and I didn't paint it black.
I turn to more colors: to wish it black
is past. The girls go see, dressed in summer clothes. I wish to her
that my head turned, my density would go.

Hmm, hmm, must hmm...

I would like to see it painted black:
black as a night, black, coal.
I would like to see the sky, would like the sun
painted out. See to it. I stained, painted, painted, painted that black.
Yeah, painted!

Pink Houses (John Cougar Mellencamp)

Language: German

My mother was fond of referring to the Malvina Reynolds song "Little Boxes," which expresses much the same sentiment. It's possible that she just enjoyed saying "ticky-tacky." Mom's like that.

But every generation gets the anti-suburbia song it deserves, and I guess this is mine. It's okay, I guess. Do all John Cougar Mellencamp songs make reference at some point to young people with lots of potential realizing they're never going to have what they always assumed they were going to have, or is it just the ones I know, or just the ones that got popular, or what? 'Cause, frankly, that shit's getting kind of tired. Or hits too close to home. Something.

-Jessi

picture of public housing in Ixtapaluca, Mexico City via Future Feeder.

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He lives within a black neighbourhood, which gives a black man a black cat.
He has an intergovernmental enterprise by its front yard;
well, so, he has that.
And up there in the evening slop is the kitchen-cleaning woman.
He can regard her himself, and says,
"I think you could stop on a favorite clock," as he reminds his master.

Chorus:
However, that's America for you and me; oh,
that baby isn't to be seen. America is not something:
America isn't that free house.
Small pink houses for you and me.

A young man is there in a t-shirt role,
hearing a swinging station:
he must have smudgy hair, and a smudgy smile
He says, "Lord, it's my destination place."
Because they explained to me, when I was younger,
"Boy, you will be president."
But like everything, straight or otherwise,
those old dreams came straight, moved, and went crazy.

Chorus

Wells are people there, and more people
know knowing, which they
go, in any high ascent. To work is to know.
Down in the gulf, there are Mexican holidays,
(ooh, yeah),
and winners. And there are losers,
but they're no large agreement, not
for the baby, because the simple man calculates, thrills, and pays for
those killing pills.

Chorus

American Cake, Part II (Don McLean, Madonna, et al)

The translated chorus, both here and in Part I reminds me of that Gwendolyn Brooks thing that you think is really great and clever the first time you read it, but due to the law of diminishing returns or something, each subsequent viewing leaves you a little less excited.* You know how a lot of things are like that?

OK, but so Part II comprises the verses where this song always achieved a perfect mélange of enticing and repelling my high school self. It’s here that McLean’s references seem to spiral inward into such self-aware specificity that the exponentially increasing levels of analysis it seems to be inviting from the listener are kind of what makes it, like, suck? Like the song likes to think that it’s the enigma machine, but really it’s one of those first-attempt-at-a-poem poems where Everything is Actually a Stand In for Something Else. Blahhg.

But, happily, these are also the verses that the Brady Bunch included in their truncated cover version on the album Meet the Brady Bunch, which, when I heard it in college, allowed me to feel just a bit superior, because while by then I had outgrown those childish things, I could imagine the six Brady kids poring over the lyrics and FREAKING OUT because this is the half of the song McLean designed to make suburban teens freak out.

Attic-dwelling, literalist Greg would be all, “The three men he admires most are The Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly,” and idealist Marcia would be all, “No, it’s RFK, JFK and MLK,” and that Blakean mystic Jan would be all, “No, it’s the literal Holy Trinity,” but Cindy, little Cindy, looking at a framed picture (Is it Robert Reed? I can't make it out), would spake as a child:

You thay. You’re
Gonna leave. You
Know it’th a lie. You
Know that. Will
Be the day. When I
Die soon

Also, “Fun bird”? WTF, German language?

-Samantha

* Actually, I take it back -- I just listened to it and when
you hear her read it, it makes it OK again. Though
that's not the case with this song.


Helter (more “skelter”) at a summer more swelter.
The birds flew away with a precipitation protection,
Eight miles highly and fast falliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
It landed, against the rules, on the grass.
The players tried for a forward run,
With the fun-bird on the supplementary income in a form.

Half the temporal air was a sweet odoriferous substance now,
While the Sergeants played a marching melody.
We rose completely, in order to dance,
Oh, but we never received the probability!
Because the players tried, catch, to take;
The marching volume rejected to furnish.
Do you recall, what the day was uncovered, which the music died?

We caught on to sing, So long, Miss American Cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but the levee? Was it drying!
The good old boys whisky drank (and rye)
And singing, this'll is the day, which I die.
This will is the day, which I die.

All -- oh -- and we were there in a place,
Which a production, which was in the area without time,
To the left again to begin lost.
So concerned: Jack is speedy! Jack is fast!
The Jack Lightning, which sat on a candle owner,
Caused a fire, is the only friend of the devil.

Oh -- and I, it on the stage, watched out there,
My hands became in the fists of a stranglehold.
No angel, who was carried in Hell,
Could break that spell (Satan’s).
And during the flames strongly into the night climbed,
In order to light up the offering candle,
Saw I that Satan, with joy, laugh the day,
Which the music died

It sang so long, it misses the American cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but... the levee, was it? Drying,
The good old boys whisky drank (and rye)
And singing, this'll is the day, which I die.
This'll is the day, which I die.

I met a girl, who sang the blue
And I asked it for somewhat lucky messages,
But she straight-smiled and turned away.
Forwards, I went, down to the holy memory,
Which I heard the music years became,
But the man said there that the music would not play.

And in the roads: the children cried,
Cried the loving. And the poets dreamed.
But a word was not spoken;
All church-bells were defective.

And the three men admire I most:
The father, son and the holy spirit,
Reached her last course for the coast
The day, which the music died.

And they sang:
So long, so long, Miss American Cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but the levee was drying.
And they (good old boys) drank whisky and singing rye.
Being is the day, which I die,
These is the day, which I die.

You sang:
So long, Miss American Cake.
Mine drove Chevy to the levee, but the levee -- was it drying!
The good old boys drank whisky and rye.
This are to sing the day, which I die

American Cake, Part I (Don McLean)

Language: German

Samantha and I have divided this one between us, because it's really really long and, frankly, I didn't think that I was capable of dealing with the whole thing. (Samantha is, I think, just humoring me. Which is fine with me as long as I don't have to do the whole thing.)

I should admit that I really hate this song. I mean really, really hate. This hasn't always been the case, or at least it doesn't seem like it. But in my part of the Midwest, no matter where you are, it seems like there's at least one radio station that will play this song about every six to eight hours. At the moment, where I'm living, there are two such stations: one of them also plays "Me and Bobby McGee," a song I actually did like at one time, at least three times a day, and the other one also plays "Livin' on a Prayer," by Bon Jovi, like every other hour.

The "Livin' on a Prayer" thing is a little easier to deal with because I always hear "It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not" as "It doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not." So I prefer that station.

Anyway. So I hate this song through sheer overexposure. I have no idea whether it's a good song or not, I don't know what it's about, all I know is that I want Don McLean to die. Repeatedly, if necessary. And anyone who wants to write a twenty-minute song called "The Day 'the Day the Music Died,' Died" is just going to have to have to think long and hard about whether or not that's a good idea.

-Jessi

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A long, long time before,
I can remind myself calmly,
I used to like this music of educated smiles.
I mean, I knew, and, if probability had
let those people dance, then possibly I could,
and they would (for a while) be lucky.

However, I would supply a shiver
with each paper. (I, who
formed February!) Bad messages on the door;
I couldn't undertake the further stages.

Remind me if I cried, if I could not.
I read over his widowed bride, when
something deeply within me
affected the daily music, which died.

So good-bye, Miss American Cake.
Levee drove the Chevy to the mine,
but Levee was drying the
good old boys, and they were drinkin' whisky and singing "Rye!"
I am the day; this'll die.
Which day is this? I'll die!

You wrote the love book,
and have faith in your God, above the
Bible. Such a way explains it to you.
Can you believe in rock roles,
store your death in soul music,
and can you teach dances to me, or how one slows material down?

You're in the love with him; I
dance to that, because I see you know the gymnasium property.
They both stepped away from your shoes.
Man, I dig that blue rhythm.

I was a lonely broncing youth
with a pickup truck and a dollar pink carnation,
but I knew that luck was from
the day when the music died.

I caught on to sing,
"Good-bye, Miss American Cake."
Levee drove the Chevy to the Mine.
Levee was drying, but he
drank whisky and the good old boys' rye.
I'll die singing, "Which day is this?"
This day is the day in which I'll die.

For 10 years, we're on ourselves, which is
[Samantha] moss. Fat now grows on a stoner,
but that's not like it used to be.
When the fun bird sang for the king and the queen,
it sang in a coat it borrowed from James Dekan.
And you: a voice came from me, (from which of us?), and . . .

Oh, the king looked down, and during this,
the thornbird stole his crown. (Fun!)
The court room was rearranged;
a judgment pronouncement was returned. No,
Marx and Lennon read a book, during
practice by the park. In the quartet,
we sang dirges in the darkness, and
the music died that day.

We sang,
"Good-bye, Miss American Cake!"
Levee drove to my Chevy,
but was it drying, Levee?
The old rye, and good whisky boys, drank,
singing, "And this is the day which'll die.
This day will die, which is me."

Television Theme Song Friday Presents “Forming Our Dreams, You Come Applicable!” (Norman Gimbel and Charles Fox)

While we were considering setting up some kind of PayPal donation fund to get something better than dialup for the Guilfords, we were thinking of All the Things that Have Been Struck by Lighting in the History of Earth, and then it hits us: You know who was struck by lightning? The Big Ragu!

Yes! Carmine Rugusa, in Laverne and Shirley’s seventh season memorably (um, to me) was struck by lightning and yet still went on to be cast in a Broadway production of Hair sometime later toward the end of the series. So take heart, Jessi!

We hereby inaugurate Television Theme Show Friday with the theme song from Laverne and Shirley, “Forming Our Dreams, You Come Applicable”.

[Please note that designating today “Television Theme Show Friday” doesn’t necessarily mean that we’ll do this again.]

[We just had a crush on Carmine when we were young and wanted to talk about him.]

[We are using the Royal We to deflect some of our hidden shame.]

[Yes, we know the word “one” is missing in the first line; that's how it came out]

Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight
Habitual bungler, born loser,
Hare pepper connected.

We will do it!
Give us each possible probability, we take it.
Give us each possible guideline, we break it.
We will let our dreams come applicable.
They do our way.

Nothing becomes us now,
Straight in front and on the rail back now turns.
We will let our dreams come applicable and will do it our way.

There is nothing, which we do not try,
Never belongs to the impossible word.
This mark is not stopping we there. We will do it!

On your marking, you receive sentence, and go you now,
A dream receiving, and we know straight now,
We, our dream come, will let applicable

And we do it our way! Our way!
If you let all come our dreams applicable,
And you do it our way! Our way!
Let all our dreams come applicable,
For me and you



[P.S. I still love you, Carmine]

We Swing You (Queen)

Language: German

Never a big fan of the original song, or of Queen in general, actually. But this is one of the reworkings that I think might have a shot at an independent life, if someone bothered to get it performed and produced by a reasonably talented group of people. I'm sure Weird Al Yankovic knows a guy who knows somebody. And I've been expecting a swing-revival-revival to happen just any second now.

I don't know what the copyright status on such a thing would be. The words are different, and the music would have to be different, especially in the chorus, but I could see lawyers making a case regardless.

But anyway. If you're part of a moderately talented band, and you're looking for a way to break into the mainstream with a novelty hit, become a one-hit wonder, and die penniless and broken of spirit, this could be the way to go. And you could always try other Babelfished German songs as a follow-up: "Swing You Like a Hurricane," "I Love to Swing and Roll," "Let's Get Swung" (?), until something worked.

Just think about it.

-Jessi

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Friend, you're a boy who leaves large noises.
Playin' in the roads is what a large man does daily,
mud on you, to face
your large dishonor.
Kickin' your box over completely, the place
received singing.

We will, we swing you.
We will, we swing you.

Friend, you're a hard man,
Shoutin in the road, which goes, "Take a young man in the – to the world, daily."
You face your blood;
your large dishonor
kept your flag wavin' over the whole place.

We will, we swing them.
Singin'!
We will, we swing you.

Poor man, are you a friend of the old man?
Pleadin' with your eyes, you form something of a daily peace,
you set good mud on your face.
Your large dishonor
kept backing you into your place. (Someone better.)

We will, we swing you.
Singin'!
We will, we swing you.
Everyone!
We will, we swing you
We will, we swing you