the Diva Platform

I’m feeling a little conversational this week (maybe a nice change from “I rant, you listen”?), and Astrochick’s comment from yesterday inspired another question I’d like to pose to the blogosphere.  Astrochick mentioned she bought “Thriller” on LP because it had the lyrics.  Her friends thought you didn’t need the lyrics; you should be able to understand them.

However, we all know better.  There’s the fuss over what the lyrics to “Louie Louie” actually are.  There’s that book, ‘Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy that gives PLENTY of examples of misheard lyrics.

“Thriller” is probably a very good example of lyrics you can mess up.  A former co-worker’s husband used to think that “Mama say mama sa mama coo sa” from “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin‘” was actually “Mama say mama sa from Arkansas.”  That kept us going at work for a long time (until we were told to cool it because it was annoying other people in our open-office department).

I can see where it’s easy to mix up those lyrics.  Bush’s “Everything Zen,” is a totally better song with the lyrics I hear when I listen to it.  I thought the chorus started off “Edward is dead,” and that the whole song was about this guy named Edward who attempted to commit suicide (”I don’t think so”).  Much more interesting (at least in my book)–even the Boy thought so after he stopped laughing at me once I sheepishly admitted this fact.  We still sing “Edward is dead” whenever we hear that song today.

So what lyrics do you mishear?  C’mon, you can tell me!

We’ve been awash in celebrity deaths, haven’t we?  Bea Arthur, David Carradine, Ed McMahon, John Callaway (big Chicago newsman), Farah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and Billy Mays, among others.  I’m sure for a few more days, I’ll be wondering if anyone else famous (or infamous) will die, and/or if we’re running out of interesting people of note.  The latter hopefully isn’t true–there’s plenty of up and coming folks out there, but sometimes I wonder how we’ll fill some of these shoes.

Take Michael Jackson, for instance.  Great singer and dancer who really shaped a lot of pop music, plus he had a mighty colorful life that fueled a lot of tabloids.  Like many a person of my generation, the “Thriller” album was one of the first cassette tapes I ever got (for me it was the second tape….my parents thought I’d like James Galway playing the flute, so that’s my first tape.  Not a tape I was excited about, so not a great “first tape” story)–and the amazing thing now that he’s dead is that his albums are the #1-13 best sellers at Amazon.  Can you believe that?!

Anyway, was “Thriller” your first tape?  If not, what was?  How about your first album, CD, 45, 8-track?  Or are you in the world where you can only get excited about your first digital download?  What was the first music you chose to shape you?

Hey folks, Pa Jaracz’ birthday is coming up.  Since he can’t drink (and he did mention to me that he would really like a cold one….and the fact that when he can drink after his cancer treatments are done, the family will be having a beer party, which means there’s time to educate him that there’s more to beer than just Heinekin and Old Style. –OK, he is onto Three Floyds as well, but I’m not really kidding about the Heinekin.  Just ask the Boy, who seems to have to drink one every time we’re there…which is odd that there’s always one in the fridge, even though there’s no beer drinking going on, wouldn’t you say?), please raise a glass in his honor some time over the next few days.  If you don’t drink, raise a pickle (since I still firmly believe he is pickled).

At any rate, here’s to our country’s most realistic economist.  Cheers, Pa!

Tuesday was Olympic Day, which Chicago celebrated in high style (it helps when your city’s bidding for the Olympics–then these kinds of events suddenly become important).  They had a big to-do at North Avenue Beach:  Two fun runs ended there, bands played for a few hours, and a whole bunch of sports were on demonstration.

The Boy’s fencing club was invited to showcase fencing, so several of the fencers came to demonstrate all three fencing weapons and get onlookers excited about the sport.  They had a nice little strip of asphalt in one of the parking lots, next to bocce ball, wheelchair volleyball, basketball (including wheelchair), a rowing simulator, badminton, and boxing.  Other sports around were kendo, archery, lacrosse, swordplay (don’t ever get a fencer talking about their opinion of swordplay, if you value your sanity.  I’m sure the reverse is true.  Can the fencer and the swordsman be friends?  We didn’t try to find out), and I don’t know what all others.

As the fencers set up their gear, they realized that they didn’t have many sabreists among themselves.  Their coach is a sabre fencer though, so she lent her gear (sabre requires you wear a lame and special mask to register an electric hit), but when the Boy pulled it out, he realized it was too small for almost everyone there, so he joked about me fencing.

Of course, I’d been all team player for this event–helping the Boy pack and load gear, think of everything they needed, fill up every water bottle we had (it was so hot I think I drank several of them myself), and haul gear down to the beach.  If he needed a fencer, I’d fence.  Granted, it’d been eight years since I fenced, and I’d never fenced sabre.  Ever.  But I could channel my inner Mariel Zagunis and make something happen.  Plus, I fit into said lame (never mind that I was supposed to wear a fencing jacket under it.  It fit!).  I was getting on that strip.

I fenced against the Boy, who was nice and gentle with me.  I still tried to use some form and get a point or two (which were probably the Boy being very nice).  I still didn’t like being whacked on the head all that much, which was one of the reasons I didn’t quite take to fencing–didn’t like wearing a mask or being whacked on the head.  My noggin is pretty important to me, so I like not to let outside forces try to beat it too much.

But somewhere in my zealousness to prove I could sort of handle a sabre, I charged, tripped, slid on the pavement, and whacked up my leg quite a bit.  I don’t quite know if the sword actually sliced up my leg or if I got that beautiful cut from a rock on the pavement.  Still, I acquired a nice stinging war wound to commemorate my brief comeback to the sport.  Much nicer than a bright orange Olympic Day t-shirt, wouldn’t you say?

This one’s probably old news by now, but I stumbled upon a “how much do you use our precious natural resources” quiz that I had to take, simply to see how poorly I do.  You see, although I do recycle, and I buy a lot of fresh foods, I do eat beef.  Eating beef is a big no-no (which I get, but honestly, there are some days where my body simply craves the iron content.  Call me one of those nasty omnivores, if you want to.  I don’t care.

Anyway, I did well on the quiz, if “well” is “lower than the average Canadian.”  Mostly that’s because I don’t have a car, and when I do use one, it’s with someone else.  But I have that option–not everyone does.

I didn’t want to spend this post bragging about my results so much as I wanted to say that my ecological footprint is the equivalent of 8.2 Candian football fields.  A Canadian football field?  Well, I haven’t really considered Canadian football in quite some time, so I had to look into this.  Yep, the Canadian playing field is 110 yds, which means it’s a bit bigger than the American field.

Not that I’m going to become a big Canadian football fan all of a sudden, but I’m a little geeked out about it.  Perhaps I like the reminder that even though I buy goods that have at least two languages on the packages, not everything in this world is standardized.  It’s a breath of fresh air to have some things that are slightly different!

Dear Netflix,

At some point in my life, I’d like to subscribe to your service.  I like the concept of having DVDs delivered directly to my door (or downloading them directly).  I would like the ability to make a private, online queue of movies instead of having a long piece of paper flapping around on my kitchen bulletin board where I eventually have to admit to those who glance at it, NO, I have not seen Scarface/Raging Bull/Goodfellas and many many other classic movies.  I would like to have access to your vast inventory of titles.

We don’t subscribe now because we wouldn’t use the service enough.  It’s kind of like car sharing–sometimes we use the car a few times a month; sometimes we go a few months without using a car.  We’ll go for a long period of time without watching movies or TV on DVD simply because we’re busy with enjoying the city (or, if you’re tracking the blog, you know I’m working on some summer reading).

However, I can see a day where I will be a customer, except that I can’t.  The Boy refuses to subscribe because you still run pop-up ads online, and he’s so annoyed by them that he won’t give you any money until you stop it.

Come on now, are annoying pop-up ads still effective for you?  They seem so 20th century.  Certainly there’s a better way of advertising your service nowadays!

Well, until you figure it out, I’ll be sitting here writing down my movie queue.

Your pal,

Jill

Just thought I’d write a quick update of how I’m doing on my reading list.  It’s probably been helpful that the weather’s been lousy, which has helped me keep focus, instead of wanting to play outside.  I’m two books down, and close to done with a third.  Progress!

First book:  Modern Manners by PJ O’Rourke.  This is a “humorous” etiquette guidebook that really read like “I’ve got to write the 2nd book of a 2-book-deal, and I really don’t know what to write.”  The book is from the late 1980’s, which was sort of interesting in a historical context, but a lot of the historical context had to do with fancy people taking drugs (ah, the glory days of cocaine, right?  Whatever).  It wasn’t really funny, and is close to being one of those books that should just fade into oblivion.  Unless maybe, if you’re super-rich, care about social status, and are into recreational drug use.  I ended up skimming it–it really should’ve been one of those books I closed after 50 pages.  For some reason, I kept going.

Second book:  Hershey biography.  It took me about 30 pages to get into this book, but once I did, it was a fascinating read.  Hershey was an interesting guy (a few failures before he became a success) and contradictory (everything’s nice in Hershey–if you drink one drink too many, you might lose your job….yet Hershey himself loved to gamble.  Bizarre).  He set up this almost utopian community that still works in a sense, when others of its time, like Pullman, failed.  They had sugar farms in Cuba (I never knew this).  And more…..like Hershey hired Ben Hogan to be the pro golfer at the town’s golf club…I just so happen to have a Ben Hogan biography, which now gives me more incentive to read that!

Of course, a personal connection helps–one of my tasks at the consulting firm was tracking the confectionery industry and all the news that went on in it.  One year, the Hershey Trust (who owns the school Hershey started…they own most of the Hershey company stock), decided they shouldn’t have their stock tied up solely in Hershey, so they wanted to sell the company.  The uproar that created…whoa!  My e-mail exploded with news.  The book does cover this event, plus how the school got started, as well.  Anyway, well-written book, great read–so great that if you want my copy of the book, I will gladly send it to you.  E-mail me (see contact page) with your address–first one to do so gets the book.

I’m almost through a third book (Room Service, a collection of essays on Eastern Europe), and I started a fourth.  Unfortunately, I brought another book in the house, and a second is being shipped, so the total number of books in my house isn’t really changing.  Still, I’m making progress.

When the Boy got fired from his old job, he had to leave behind the plants in his cube (it was January, they wouldn’t have made it home), and a co-worker offered to take care of them.  Fast-forward to this week, and not only is the old office moving to the suburbs, but other fired co-workers have left plants behind, and they had a whole plant cube.  That will no longer exist in the new office.  If the plants weren’t saved, they’d die.

So the Boy and I decided to give these plants a new home.  We got them last week–and didn’t quite realize how big some of them were and how much room they’d take up in our apartment.  We already have a few plants, but it’s nice to have some new ones.  They really liven up the place:

Since we’re sort of in a school/education vein, be sure to read this article from the latest Economist now (the new one comes with Friday’s mail, and I don’t know how their website is about non-subscribers having archive access).  It discusses just how little the average American does schoolwork.

When a former Chicago Public Schools teacher told me just how little the regular public school students are in class–a recent Chicago magazine article says 1500 minutes a week.  How much is that?  5 hours a day.  FIVE.  When I was in high school (granted, not in Chicago), we had seven hour days.  I can’t remember grade school, but I think it’s about the same–maybe slightly shorter.

At any rate, if I got two hours more education a day than a high schooler today gets, how much further behind does that kid get?   Oh, I know this isn’t the case for every school system in the nation, but I bet that some school systems have gotten more lax, just as the Economist claims. Plus, if you compare to the length of time other countries keep their kids in school, it only makes our kids fall behind even more.  I can’t imagine why we want to set up a whole generation to fail.  We don’t want people on welfare, yet we don’t want to get people to learn either so that they can get jobs that make a living wage so that they don’t have to go on welfare.  What gives?

And why are parents soft on the homework?  I know sports take a lot of time, but not everyone’s in sports/theater/what have you.  And maybe some of the activities are simply resume-builders to help get into college.

When I was in school, it was pretty much a given that every night I’d have math homework.  And usually science.  English dictated I read a lot.  In German we had a vocab quiz every day.  Every day.  You could count on it.  Plus, there’d be a test at the end of every chapter–if we didn’t have so much drilling, we’d never learn the words (or the math and science concepts, or the history).   Yeah, it was a pain in the neck, but at least I learned something.

Why don’t we want our children to learn?

You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?  A chance to get on the Baby Boomers case again?  Because I do blame the Baby Boomers collectively for a good number of our nation’s problems.  Not the Baby Boomers I know personally, who behaved sanely, but the ones who encouraged our economy to get out of whack on a number of levels just so they could pad their own bank accounts.

Now they’re apologizing.  Did you see the Wall Street Journal article about the apologies being made at graduation speeches because the job market is so dismal for this year’s grads (not to mention student loans being out of control for a lot of people….an aside:  I saw an ad for an online program at the University of Wisconsin for a degree in sustainable management.  I thought the Boy might be interested in this, but before I recommended he look into it, I wondered what it would cost.  $350/credit.  You have to take 63 credits.  That’s over $21,000.  For an ONLINE degree.  What is up with this?)?

I had to laugh.  It’s kind of nice to feel a little justification that what you thought turned out to be pretty true, but that doesn’t make the economy any better.  It doesn’t give grads decent jobs.  It doesn’t make college affordable.  Though it does seem to suggest I should be in charge.  Hey, California is thinking about splitting up, and other states want to secede.  Anyone up for living in Jilldonia?

I finished the Milton S. Hershy biography (summer reading project going well so far), and not only was it a great read, it was really interesting to see how Hershey created this semi-utopian community that he had most of the control over.  Granted, it worked fairly well, but you weren’t really allowed to be much different, and shame on you if you showcased some behavoirs the boss didn’t agree with (which was hilarious because in Hershey he was this very upright man….away from home?  A gamblin’ fool).

I’m just saying that if Hershey could do it, I’m sure I could create a nice little community, where I’d mostly leave you alone and let you come up with ways to make life better.  And I’d make awesome graduation speeches like these.  And everyone would be forced to read my writing.  Sounds ideal, doesn’t it?  Though honestly, if I threw in free snacks and a daily happy hour, it starts to sound a little bit like a retirement community.  I’m afraid to think that’s about my speed these days.