Yesterday I tried making pina colada popsicles. (“But rum doesn’t freeze,” Gene said, puzzled, when I explained to him my genius plan. Face palm. Pina colada sludge.) This led to me getting one line from the Pina Colada Song stuck in my brain: “If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain…” Unfortunately, that’s the only line I know, so…there we were, me and this line, all afternoon.
Somehow that miserable little song opened a floodgate in my head to all the crappy songs I sort of know. I woke up humming Amy Grant’s “Baby, Baby” this morning. By the time I made coffee (which I am remembering to drink today, not that it matters in terms of burning the house down since I’m now operating out of a new French press), my brain had moved onto Janet Jackson singing that swoopy little “Allll riiight wiiiith me, allllll riiight wiiiith me” from, yes, the song called “Alright.” Just that, over and over.
I must make a shift, and soon. I must immediately listen to the world’s most complicated song, something so layered and atonal and inhospitable to the ear that it not only drives all crappy songs out of my head, it drives itself out as well. But where am I to find such a song now that Gene has gone to work?
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