I was introducing my tired mind to the day’s happenings (via MSNBC) and came across this lovely little ditty, “All The Pringle Haters” ( http://tinyurl.com/ybh5bjy ) and had to just giggle. A lot. Which made the cat look at me in that way again, like when I snort coffee out of my nose and such things. She’s such a judger. But whatever.
Because the essence of the article is how we often get song lyrics wrong. Talk about timely, since I just blogged on the whole song lyric thingy going down in my life (Mama What’s This One About? ). (BTW, would somebody remind me that the ping-back to my blog was just self-generated. The last time this happened, I was on cloud 9 for about a week before I realized it was just me. Reality bites sometimes.)
Anyhoo, I never have a freakin’ clue what song lyrics really are – probably because I usually only hear the radio in my mom-van which means there’s non-stop chatter going on in the background. But if the truth be told, sometimes, I really think my version of reality is better. On most subjects actually.
Take for example, the lyrics to The Red Hot Chili Pepper’s, “The Zephyr Song.” So, let’s just have some back story, shall we? I like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. A lot. They travelled with me (along with Concrete Blonde) in my backpack, as I travelled about Europe. (I must add, this is fully because of my much more musically-hipster sister.) So, you’d think that I would actually know what a favorite band of mine is singing as I sing along with them. Loudly and often badly.
That song had probably been gracing my own airwaves for about a year and a half or so when I happened to be giving a wonderful speech kid a ride home from a speech tournament. (If you’re out there Tatyana Liskovich, I still marvel at you!) Red Hot Chili Peppers comes on the AM/FM radio of the high school’s tres cool passenger van and she and I start singing. Good thing I was smart enough to not sing loudly. Because who the heck knew the “Zephyr Song” didn’t include the lyric, “fly away on my cell phone”?
Don’t get me wrong, I logically knew it probably wasn’t “cell phone” Anthony Kiedis and the boys were rocking my free world about. But those were the syllables that came together in my mouth the first time I sang along with it and that’s what has stayed in my mind.
Which pretty much sums up how I roll. Sometimes, I just like my version better. It is probably a major personality flaw, but what can I say? Mea Culpa.
This propensity for slight changes to reality follows into all aspects of my life. Take for instance, the story of Nick. Looking back, I’m pretty much 99% sure that I must have gone to the bathroom at an important juncture in the story telling process, because this is how I remember hearing the story of Nick.
“Nick was a wood pile cat. And when Bee brought him home, he was this scraggly, nasty, pint-sized little thing that didn’t look like he would survive the day. But he did. He grew into the meanest, biggest tom cat you’ve ever seen. He was so mean and tough that he once took down the neighbor’s toy poodle.”
My husband swears I have completely made up the story. But I don’t know. I liked Nick. He was a bad-ass cat in more ways than one. He survived an intimate encounter with a car and probably half the female cat population of Minneapolis. I think it is good and fitting to honor Nick’s memory with making him so tough that he could kill a toy-poodle.
And he probably flew away on his cell phone when he was done licking his furry big self clean again from that toy-poodle experience.