Monday, September 13, 2004

When the Dog Bites

Raindrops on roses? Whiskers on kittens?


Earlier this evening, I said to myself: I'm feeling sad. Which cruelly caused my subconscious to press PLAY on a perpetual loop of the most abhorrently inadequate song ever committed to film.

When I'm feeling sad, no wild geese or copper kettles have even the most remote therapeutic effect on my unhappiness. The schnitzel with noodles? I'm already infertile; I don't need to feel fat, too. And as for girls in white dresses, Jesus, they're the worst. Just a painful reminder of what I don't have. (Though, really, I don't know about the blue sash; there's a 75% probability she would have brown eyes, my imaginary little girl, so perhaps a lovely green, or even pink...)

When my sister, A.K., was thirteen, she landed the minor role of Louisa in a community theater production of The Sound of Music. (Louisa's claim to fame: warbling "I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly!" while twirling around the stage, amrs extended, emulating an airplane.) Being expected to act as her scene partner and cue her during the full eight weeks of rehearsals, every saccharine line of the play became embedded in my head, like mental ringworm.

And the worst was the scene of the thunderstorm, all of the children rushing in to be comforted by the eager and nauseatingly pleasant Maria. Even at age eleven, I was certain that My Favorite Things was really just Things That Rhymed and That Oscar Hammerstein Thought Children Would Find Vaguely Pleasant. I mean, really, woolen mittens? C'mon. What the fuck use would I have for itchy woolen mittens? I'm from California.

Alternate lyrics could be found, I guess--raindrops on our parched lawn might be somewhat helpful; whiskers not collecting in shaved clumps in our sink would be niceish--but they still wouldn't be enough to raise anyone's spirits. So when the dog bites, save your time and just bite him back.

Might be a little harder with the bee, though.


Blogger JJ said...

Way to go! Now I can't get it out of my head!

10:17 AM  
Blogger Barren Mare said...

Nooooooo. That song is eeeevil. Evil. Brown paper packages tied up with string reminds me of something you'd run from in a bomb scare. Fuck Rodgers & Hammerstein.

11:32 AM  

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