Friday, September 10, 2010

You Don't Have to be a Genius (2.0)

Don't you just hate it when you've got a post rolling around in your head, and when you actually sit down to write it, and start - gasp! - checking out facts, and your oh-so-clever post just starts to unravel like a People of WalMart sweater?

Don't you just?

Well, I do.

You see, a lot of my posts start as the title. It can be a play on words or can include something that has pinged my interest. From this springboard, the rest of the post just kind of flows.

But now, there's some goddamned beaver up around the bend (for our purposes, we'll call this beaver Toothy McResearch), who has dammed up the water, so whatever jumps off my springboard? Lands head-first into the mud, breaking its neck.

Not funny.

Perhaps if I start at the beginning of how this began and was all supposed to proceed and eventually tie itself up in a pretty pink bow, you'll get my point.

Original Post: You Don't Have to Be a Genius (1.0)

Here I am, lying face down on a table, waiting - nay, steeling myself - as my massage therapist prepares herself in some outer room for her latest installment of punishment on my gimped-up shoulder. No doubt she is breaking coconuts open with a single hand, followed by pressing chunks of coal with her thumbs until, 5 minutes later, they chemically transform into a pile of diamonds.

Here I am, senses quickened. The smells of the aromotherapy oil, and the clean linens. The taste of a mixture of anticipation and fear. And the sound?

The sound is elevator-esque music, breezily wafting in through the overhead speakers.

What. Is. That. Song?

I know it, but I don't. It's light, it's airy. It has happy strings and - is that a xylophone?

As I completely laser in on the actual music, and rapidly flip through my mental song catalogue - it occurs to me.

It is 'Ruby Tuesday', by the Rolling Stones.

And next comes "Tumblin' Dice". Then "Beast of Burden."

What.

The.

Frackin'.

Hell?

It is so weird, I can barely wrap my head around it.

I ask the MT what the name of the CD is; she doesn't know.

I make a mental note to ask to look at the case before I leave; I forget.

(I'm busy dealing with the alien baby that she has caesarianed from the muscles between my shoulders.)

And, is usually the case with all things that vex me greatly, I promptly move on to something else. For an oh-so-brief moment, I make a mental note to look up Baby Einstein crap when I get home. I'm convinced it's Baby Einstein crap. And is usually the case with my mental notes, *poof* - they're promptly gone, as fast as they came.

I am a genius.

But then it happens again.

Only this time, it's The Beatles.

Which is no biggy to me. To my mind, they're a pretty multigenerational brand of music. Nothing too nefarious about The Fab Four.

When it happens a third time, and it's a papped-up version of The Doors "Hello, I Love You", and "Light My Fire", I do not forget.

As I lie there, getting my broken-down body mashed to the consistency of an over-ripe banana, I am beginning to have a post formulate in my head.

If this is the work of the Baby Einstein people, the title of the piece will be 'You Don't have to be a Genius'.

I'll talk about the irksomeness of taking some of the world's nastiest groups, and turning them into lullabies for babies, and all the implications thereof. I'll talk about the poor judgement involved in using music from bands like The Stones - all sex and lips and writhing hips - (not that there's anything wrong with that)(for adults)- and making it into entertainment for simple, pure young minds. I'll talk about using music from The Lizard King - a man arrested for lewd and lacivious behaviour, for indecent exposure - dude, you wouldn't want your baby around that kind of person in real life, why are you endorsing them as a solid music choice? What happened to Barney? Or Charlotte Diamond? Or Raffi?

I'll sum the post all up by saying that, by having his name attached to such a project which infers that parents can accelerate their childrens' intelligence by listening to this music, dear Albert is clearly rolling over in his grave. You don't have to be an Einstein, Baby or not, to figure that out.

I know that, after dinner, I am planning on writing about this questionable Baby Einstein movement afoot. I know that, from my usual Mom's-On-A-Rant soapbox, I can enlist the vonB sons into helping my cause, by providing names of bands that the B.E. group could look at covering next . They offer up: Slayer, Insane Clown Posse, Megadeth, Tool, Kanye West, Nine Inch Nails.

Thank you sons. You always come through.

And then I start to search up Baby Einstein.

Crap-sicles.

This CD is clearly NOT Baby Einstien.

Further research shows that it is, instead, Babies Go, "a wonderful way to introduce your wee ones to some of the world's most popular music."

Blech.

For the rehab baby, there's Babies Go Aerosmith.

For the rasta baby, there's Babies Go Bob Marley.

For the alternative baby, there's Babies Go Coldplay.

If however, your baby is looking for something a little edgier, then you must usher them over to Rockabye Baby!.

Here, you'll be able to introduce your wee one to the finest social commentary available, set to the music of The Pixies, U2, Guns N Roses, Radiohead, AC/DC, Tool, Queens of the Stone Age, Bjork, and my personal favorite, Metallica.

Because you don't have to be a genius to know that baby really needs to hear about the Sandman.

Back to Never Never Land.





5 comments:

Diane said...

I love how your mind works. I love that your mind works during a massage. Mine does too... in turbo drive. After the massage...? Nothing. I cannot recall a single salient point that I could swear was kin to act of relativity or whatever Galileo thought up. I have a brain like a sieve. It holds nothing!

Mental P Mama said...

I like woo woo music during my massages.

Leah !! said...

Totally just realized you're back at it. I will be watching youuuu!! Muahahaha.

Chesapeake Bay Woman said...

Thank you for a glimpse at the inner workings of your mind, it's a fascinating place to be.

I'm no genius, but I think you need to patent those crapsicles, or at least the word.

IN the mean time, please don't be upset if I use it, often, on a daily basis, because it is now my new favorite word.

Crapsicles.

Noe Noe Girl...A Queen of all Trades. said...

Never Never land....isnt that where they keep the crapsicles???
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