Monday, July 19, 2004

Sanctity of the Dancer and Song Lyrics

I have officially healed the fish I have been obsessing over. In the process, I've finally given him a name: Shaft. His companion has been named Sushi. So now I have pets that sound like an early 80's sitcom: Sushi and Shaft. They sound like crime fighting fish, or unlikely roommates who have to find a way to somehow get along, or maybe cross-dressing fish that masquerade as women to get cheaper rent and fall in love with a hot fish named "Sunny." 
As another follow up, the bachelor party seemed to have gone well at my house. However, my husband Paul uttered the funniest phrase I think I've ever heard before I left the house for the evening. I was asking him what time I needed to leave. He said, "Sometime before the stripper gets here. Your presence will tarnish the sanctity of the dancer." Think about that: "the sanctity of the dancer." I was unaware that dancing naked on my coffee table was a sacred ritual and that somehow my being there would be as gauche as going to a baptism in a cheesy Satan outfit. Paul will hear about this for the rest of his life, which I think is part of the duties of a good wife: remind the man of all the dumb things he's said over the years. Men love that.
I've written a song and Paul has been producing it. He posted it on this audio forum website to get some feedback about the technical side of the recording. This forum has nothing to do with songwriting or lyric writing; however, this one guy chimed in to recommend a lyric change. I try to be open minded about criticism. I've really been working hard at it, but the more people I encounter, the more I learn that God did not see fit to equally distribute intelligence and talent amongst the people. I think the sooner you embrace this fact, the closer you will be to happiness. Anyway, the first line of the chorus is "I've known people like you, tearing down what I'm trying to build." So dumb ass writes, "It needs a stronger/punchier lyric. It points a negative/accusatory finger at the listener. Try, 'I'm breaking free, you can't fool me'. It's open and says the same thing."
My absolute distaste for this man's suggestion exists on many levels. I recognize that some of the best songs ever written have some stupid lyrics in them, but I can't figure out on what planet this guy thinks that line says the same thing as my original line. He says "it's open..." like, here's a little gift. You can have this one for free." No thank you. I want that line about as much as I want to be anally probed with large organic produce. Taking that suggestion would be like the Indian who accepted the small pox infested blankets. A plague would come over my song in the matter of minutes if I listened to people like him.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

My Ass Beseeches You.

What do you get when you combine pants and a generous helping of ass? One pissed off lady, that's what. I am not a large lady, but I seemed to have received a double-scoop of ass when I was made. This blog is dedicated to all the ladies out there who would rather gnaw their own arm off than squeeze into pants in a flourescently lit closet sized room with a mirror in front of you. I know you're out there. We all got asses and a need for pants. I am not alone. So this raises the question: Where are our pants?

While this is dedicated to all of us "booty-centric" ladies, this is also a plea to all pants-makers who seem to think women should not have a little-bitty waist and a round thing in your face. We are an ignored group. You've seen us with our pants gaping in the back, showing you way too much of our underwear. You've seen us with our pants all bunched up in the back with a belt. Considering all the great things we've achieved: space travel, a cure for polio, cheese whiz (really, cheese in a can is genius. Think about it) you'd think someone with some sewing skills could make us all some proper pants.

Someone needs to open a store just called "Big Ass Pants." I'm sure it would act as a beacon for all of us who have cried in an Old Navy dressing room and said a prayer that went like this: "God, why did you make my ass so big?" and the answer was, "Because Jesus likes a round ghetto booty. Shake yo' ass. Show me what you're working with!"

I would definitely put the brakes on if I saw a sign that said "Big Ass Pants." Men have Big & Tall stores. We deserve our own store, our own brand of pants made just for us. It's not too much to ask. Really. My ass beseeches you. Someone tell me where I can get good pants.