AM Earworms

Me:
I'm Tired - Lili Von Schtupp
Oliver:
Jim Dandy (to the rescue) - Apparently by several folk but the one this cohort is familiar with is by Black Oak Arkansas

AM Earworm

Heat Miser - The Rankin & Bass Orchestra?

"I'm Mr. Heat Miser
I'm Mr. Sun
I'm Mr. Heat Blister
I'm Mr. hundred and one..."

Insider Jesters

I guess It must be official that I’m a high powered blogger now.

AM earworms

7:34 - Tsars
They are insidious.
They have a myspace.
Perhaps you should hear for yourself.

I'm a jelly do-nut

I saw the “Do-re-mi train station” video. I started to cry uncontrollably. I am such a puss.

Lord I gots the vapours

I had a most unusual (for me) experience yesterday at work.
The track drapes in the front room were mussed and the folk asked me to try to fix that. So I got up and took a look, and determined that the hooks on two of the folds were out of the little plastic part of the track. Incidentally I absolutely HATE those kind of curtains. Why oh why do we need to make something as simple as a piece of fabric mechanical? You will never find those in any house I live in, ever!

Anyway, I had to go behind the curtains to try to fix that. That’s when I realized I was dizzy with the kind of dizziness one gets occasionally from standing up too fast. I was talking it through, that I felt dizzy, that I was going to wait a second, then I would reach up again, get dizzy again, all the while still talking about what I was experiencing.

Suddenly I heard a whooshing noise, then a loud a loud clunk, only realizing when my head started to hurt that it had been my head hitting the floor. I was really confused as to how the floor had reached up and smacked me in the head. I sat up and I seemed trapped in some weird cave of white light, white walls and white curtains. I was trying to fight my way out of miles of unending dusty curtains. I was quite disoriented.

I finally got disentangled. I could see the nice, normal, living room. But man did I feel surreal. Poor Mrs. Folk was pretty wigged out. She has pretty severe verbal difficulty due to Alzheimer's so she was having a lot of trouble expressing her discomfiture. Old Mr. Folk seemed to take it pretty philosophically however. Eventually we laughed and laughed, Mrs. Folk and I. Probably because it made her extremely nervous, and aside from the surreal feeling I continued to have for a couple hours, I was really terribly embarrassed. So what to do but laugh?.

I find it odd that embarrassment was the overweening sensation. How could one possibly find anything embarrassing about something as unexpected and uncontrolled as fainting? But that is exactly what I felt, kind of stupid, clumsy, and idiotic. Embarrassment, what a strange, social construct. In retrospect I realize that I spend an awful lot of time either feeling or reliving it. And I hear it’s even worse in some other cultures. I sure wish there was a pill for that.

Am earworms

A freecreditreport.com jingle. Thank god it’s giving way to Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song” here only about an hour and a half later.

Soft rock ballads earworms shudder

Woke up with Robert Johns - Sad Eyes (turn the other way, I don’t want to see you cry). Then moved on to America - Sister Golden Hair. More than happy to spread that away from myself.

Gen-somnia

I have a classic picture of the old man. He is clearly sitting on a couch, cast a little sideways. One arm is up laying along the back of the couch. His chin is on his chest, and he is totally out. Of late this is me most evenings in Nigel’s big comfy chair as well. Then, about one twelfth of the time, when I finally can get up and go to bed, I have insomnia. So did he.

I’ve always had very strange sleep. Up to about age eleven I never wanted to. I remember when I was about six or seven, my mom burst into my room at three in the morning to ask me if I couldn’t, perhaps, polish and rearrange the furniture at a more reasonable hour. I then basically slept straight through eleven and twelve. I discovered serious partying at thirteen and never wanted to sleep again ‘till I was about twenty-six. All during the latter I became almost narcoleptic. I would fall asleep, uncontrollably, inappropriately, and often inconveniently, at the drop of a hat. I basically only took naps for thirteen years. Naps being anywhere from three seconds to 4 hours. I also invariably begin to dream instantaneously. This constant waking and dreaming has always made for much confusion between the worlds.

I now have fairly decent sleep hygiene. I really do. I take little to no caffeine. I get up pretty much at the same time every day. I nap (intentionally) pretty sparingly. I don’t take the evening dose of one of my meds because it can disturb sleep. I (mostly) use the bed only for sleeping. One reason being that the feeling of that full body stretch when one first goes horizontal is just, so, delicious. But this year I have struggled more and more with sporadic insomnia. I suspect it’s genetic.

We seem to be saddled with more than our fair share of lousy genetics in my family. It has become almost a game to see with whom which traits will pop up next. Like instead of Bing-O it’s Crap-O. Don’t get me wrong, we have a few really good genes like serious brains, some particular beneficial sensitivities, my hair, umm, hmm, - that’s really all I can think of off hand.

I think I’m about up to A. On this side of aging I feel the P & O looming. I’m sure that they’ll pop soon. Which of course leads up to the question, what then is the prize? I’m damn sure it’s not money, could it really be wisdom or is that just old folky, trying to feel compensated, claptrap?

No AM Earworm!

Sometimes it’s really nice to wake up w/out anything insisting in my head. Especially after last weekends (at least) 48 hours of “Tiki Temple” by the Tsars. For 2 or 3 days there, it was so bad that I dasn’t turn off the TV or itunes or stereo because every time there was an empty space in my brain it would go right back to filling with hot lava while chanting goobah gaba and vestal nymphomaniacs were ceaselessly preparing aphrodisiacs and chanting jungle prayers. If it had been something like “Rhinestone Cowboy” going on in that fashion I would have shot myself dead and I’m not kidding. I can say this with great certainty as I once had “Afternoon Delight” in there for just a day and it made me want to go to psych ER and beg for Thorazine.

The reason I had “Tiki Temple” stuck so badly was that I was asked to write some prosody publicity for said Tsars. They asked for in the style of Andrew Looge Oldham and/or old Nancy Sinatra liner notes. What they’ve received (so far) instead is that ‘orrible, ‘orrible, bit of dreck below, “Put Another Nikolai In”. Although, I must admit to liking the bit about Aqua Velva and Tigress parfum. I wrote it in one session with the muses on Friday night. For inspiration I listened to their myspace playlist three or four times through. That was what proved to be my ultimate undoing.

I’d like to give it another whirl but I am slightly terrified that I will be doomed to another lost weekend of running from thing to thing trying to drown out “My Martini” or “734”. because believe you me, I am so skipping right over “Tiki Temple” this time. Just talking about it has started the whole surfey guitar and tomrolls thing right back up. I’m frickin’ doomed.

Chemical Castration

I’ve been having a bit of a “flat affect.” You may not have noticed.

So “we” are trying some new things. Massive doses of vitamin D3 is one. Three weeks after taking 5000 IU’s a day my levels are up into the bottom ranges of normal. Therefore I assume, that there was in fact, a previous deficit. Even though it’s one of the least expensive supplements I’ve ever gotten I am glad to say I can now drop on down to 3000 IU’s. Every little bit it helps.

Also it would appear that somewhere a hypo-thyroid thing appeared. I am being told that this nifty new pill will put some zippy in my pip. Am I pzipy yet? You tell me.

Then there’s the perennial favourite, which is that it is no longer February and early March in Michigan. This winter was a straight out bitch. What a long drawn out drag.

And there is the slow burn, subtle furious-ness at government and their insistence and propaganda that as a fat smoker I am THE embodiment of THE problem. Slow burn hatred is never good for my productivity. But again, I’m sure noone noticed.

And there you have it, the word castration is coming from the Greek word kaezein.
And that’s a cheesy movie reference, if you don’t get it it really can’t be helped.

Cat toy round up reports

This months roundup brings shockingly low numbers. Either the cats are growing up and slowing down or the basement has become a black hole. P’raps a little of both.
29 Foil balls
3 Milk caps
3 Small superballs
1 large superball
1 nubbly catnip scented superball
1 Tube of lipbalm missing for the last month or two

When in doubt, dumb doggerel will do

Put Another Nikolai In

The working day starts sundowning
grab a vodka latte shake
at Tatiana’s Tiki Carnivale
& Lava Steamed Clambake.
Beyond abandon, city streets
somewhere out, past grittin’ smiles
but not too close to “somewhere green”.
It’s really just a couple miles.
Galloping calliope sends
merry horses round the bend.
Tilt a’ Whirl exudes an
Aqua Velva/ Tigress blend.
What is this we’re sensing?
Follow the crowd down the midway.
The soundtrack to a T. McGee,
those scratched records that your parents played.
Tsars have sacked the pediment
tom rolls plough through solar plexus
Ultra-manly bass noise
surfs woven waves of Gretsch’s.
Guys and dolls are grooning
Jack Nitzsche tips the wink
add dulcet organ whinging
all driving you to your next drink.
Back home you strigil snake oil
maybe lave your brain with art
cast fluffy, virgin, laundry loads in
the swelling temple of your heart
Like he said, the bourbon’s warm now
knuckle sleep out of your eye
another steamy, working, morning
when seven thirty four rolls by.