Everybody goes through my present experience, so this is probably not much of a blog-worthy subject. I’m sure nearly every thinking, feeling person has at one time (or another) had a song stuck in their head. After having the same tune lodged in my noggin for the last week, however, I’m beginning to feel as if my mind is on a deserted island all it’s own and the item it brought along is one darn song to keep it company. That song would be Jolene, Dolly Parton’s hit single from way back “in-the-day.” Back in-the-day is a ruse used to cover up my age, but it would be more honest to say the song is so old that they recorded it using soup cans. Jolene, for those who haven’t been introduced to the Dolly oeuvre, is the tale of a woman who worries herself into a frenzy over the arrival of a husband stealing hussy named…Ralph. No, wait. This is country music, after all, and the temptress went by Jolene. I happened to listen to Jolene (the song) for no particular reason one day a week ago (curse you itunes d.j.! Play some Skynard). It’s been embedded in my gray matter ever since. Jolene, Jolene, Joe-leeen.
I’ve tried everything to erase this song from my memory bank. Some of the measures have been drastic. They Might Be Giants songs have been broken out of my collection in a vain attempt to annoy Jolene right out of my head. My daughter is appearing in a production of Bugsy Malone Jr. this week, so I’ve tried to replace Jolene with catchy Paul Williams numbers. Nothing has worked. The reality is that I’ll have to channel and purge Jolene in a drastic manner. Sometime, maybe late tonight under a Twilight-y moon, I’ll go out to the back yard and howl out Jolene. My next post will be when I return from the pokey. Best wishes ’till then!
I make a lot of suggestions which aren’t taken seriously. Granted, if you know me, then you understand why. Take, for instance, my suggestion about using gasoline to take hairspray off ceramic tile. My wife Lori has been casting about for ideas about getting her hair hold products off of our bathroom tile. She uses this kind of hairspray that adheres to any surface and immobilizes follicles into a state of helmitude. The spray is manufactured in a part of Tennessee not generally associated with legal forms of chemistry. This hairspray might explain how Dolly Parton has kept…umm…everything upright for generations. Good stuff, but my wife doesn’t think gasoline is the answer.
Who knows? I mean gasoline has gotten me out of some tough situations in the past. Before I met Lori, I had a landlady who kicked me out of my room after a few months. Her new clothes dryer had gotten full of ink, because I’d left a bunch of ball point pens in my pockets. Panicking, I figured out gas would get the ink out.* Unfortunately, the dryer stunk of fuel. More unfortunately, the dryer burped fire out of it’s vent. That’s not what got me kicked out. Nah. She called me upstairs one night when I’d just gotten home from work. Nothing on but a pair of garden shears. I ran downstairs and out the door. Mrs. Robinson she wasn’t. The next morning she asked me (while clothed) to find a new place. I’d already been reading the apartment finder. You know, the gasoline really did get the ink out of her dryer, though. I’ve lived a sort of life and sometimes my suggestions are from having lost my home to a naked old woman. Lori has heard these stories and is busy googling stain removers.
*Don’t ever put gasoline in a dryer, because it could kill you. Also, don’t do anything I’ve ever done.