Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor!
This post is not about baking.
Happy song of the day:
St. Patrick’s themed outfits and stage set unintentional. Also, this is not the still I would have chosen. Oh, YouTube.
I sometimes wish I was in bed
I really want to title this post, “I got home, sat down, and was asleep eight minutes later” but it seemed a little bit literal. Anyway, I’m writing this at 1:30am and backdating it (I have done that quite often this week, you may have noticed) and it is less than well thought out, sorry. This is the problem with this challenge. But I am up to writing a half-assed post in the middle of the night!
Wait, no I’m not. I need to go to Real Bed rather than Fake Bed aka, the sofa. So one more happy song and tomorrow I promise a picture of the delightful baked goods which have caused me to average 3.5 hours a night of sleep this week.
In the vein of yesterday’s choice, I picked the sprightliest Depeche Mode song with the most unfortunate title. In case it isn’t peppy enough for you, it’s one of their earliest songs and this live video from 1981 shows Dave Gahan’s unfortunate fashion choices of that era. I like to think the pants tried to swallow him whole that morning.
Happy Purim!
These are the ways on which I was raised
In lieu of a post, I really wanted to just list various lines of songs that I’ve been listening to over some eight hours of baking these last two nights. Things like:
And so I quit the police department, and got myself a steady job.
Dear hero imprisoned….
It’s a beautiful life, my life.
I’m lying on the floor of the night before, with a stranger lying next to me.
On dit qu’il y fait toujours beau, c’est là que migrent les oiseaux.
There’s a knock on the door, and just for a second I thought I remembered you.
You never loved your frozen freight, perishables and bloodless meat.
Anei ra maua e piri tahi nei.
Oh, hey I just did! Music to bake by, it makes me happy. I remember the first Purim I baked on my own, in my sophomore year of college. I was listening to the classic rock station in Baltimore and thinking of holidays at home. Good times… and I mean that sincerely.
And now for the video. You know what the happiest song of the ones above is? The one about the murderers. I’m not sure what that says about my musical taste. North of the City will know that the thing about this song that makes me the happiest is how Morrissey can make the word “playboys” into three syllables.
Title comes from:
Cherry ice cream smile
This is going to be one of those song posts. I’m up late baking and will be again tomorrow, so that might be one of those song posts, too. Please be happy anyway! I mean, listen to the song, watch the video… could there be anything more frothy and fun? Everything is sunny and everyone is pretty! ~sigh~
Now you know how happy I can be
(Sorry, Jew & A will be delayed one day due to the death of Davy Jones)
It is really hard to write happy posts when people keep dying. Stop dying, people I like!
But, a story.
One of the grades I teach is Kindergarten, something I never, ever in my life thought I’d do. Sometimes as I look at them I try and remember what it was like to have the mind of a five-year-old, how everything was new and exciting and mysterious. I remember just three things from Kindergarten and here they are.
1. I remember our daily snack: Tam Tam crackers and orange Juice. The juice had pulp and I hated pulp. But I drank it. Once in a while, we had popcorn from an electric popcorn maker (remember those?).
2. I ran away from school. Yes, really. I slipped away at recess with a friend. This was not the original plan. First off, I was supposed to go with my BFF, Leora, but she chickened out at the last minute. Also, I had this ruse that I conceived: I’d prick my finger on the nearby thorn bush and need to go to the nurse, then I’d slip away from there. I don’t remember why this didn’t happen or how I planned for my friend to join me. Anyway, my new co-conspirator and I managed to get about eight or ten blocks before we got tired and turned back. We met a search party along the way. As an adult, I cannot believe there wasn’t a law suit over this.
3. Speaking of my friend, Leora, I remember the elaborate lies we’d tell each other, trying to top the other. The one I chiefly remember was, “I saw Davy Jones in the park.” “Yeah, well I talked to Davy Jones in the park.” “Oh yeah? Well, I kissed Davy Jones in the park!” I was absolutely sure she was telling the truth and also that she believed me. I try to keep this experience in mind when listening to Kindergarteners tell me about the incredible things that happened to them.
But this is all to say that when I was in pre-school and Kindergarten, reruns of The Monkees played every day and I’d watch them in utter fascination. I felt sorry for my siblings who had to go to real school and miss the show. It was good to be young. Really young.
I am not sure what the happy thought is here. Innocence? Kindergarten? Oh wait, it’s the music. Happy, poppy music.
RIP, Davy. I’ll see you in the big park in the sky. Later, I’ll tell my friends all about it.
