But...you're online reading blogs right now...so you're probably either NOT busy or avoiding things you really NEED to do. Which makes me feel okay about what I'm about to write.
First. I grew up in a musical home. Well, let me rephrase that. I begged to take piano lessons, and then begged harder to stop taking them. I took voice lessons for a while and liked them for the most part but there were....complications which I shall not here explain. My mom had a very cool player that rotated and played about 300 CDs...and it was on most all the time (as I remember). I loved music from age 3 when I got my first fisher-price record player that played 4 primary-colored plastic "records." And I had one heckuva dance routine for Neil Diamond's "Heartlight" song not to mention my smooth moves for "Footloose." I was ahead of my time...sigh.
My friend Anita tells me when I sing to her every time she says a word that triggers a song (which is about 39 times a day, on average): "Julesy, the music is in you." And I smile and agree.
But today when I was running and singing along, I heard myself sing "shorty hot pocket...da da da da...it doesn't matter who's wrong or right" and then start to question the veracity (and possibility) of those lyrics. So I came home and googled the lyrics to "Beat It," by our dear Michael. Turns out...he's actually saying "showin' how funky strong is your fight, it doesn't matter who's wrong or right." I was close. Sorry Michael. (But seriously...showin' how funky strong is your fight??!?!" Really? That's not much more impressive than Shorty Hot Pocket, just sayin'...).
This isn't the first time the lyrics I sing are devastatingly different than what the artist intended. Like for instance:
"I've been through the desert on a horse with no MANE," is really "horse with no name," but honestly, both versions are just weird. (Imagine me as a 7-yr old wondering what I'd hold onto if there were no mane...because of course...a saddle and reigns were out of the question...in keeping true to the spirit of freedom the song portrays...).
And...
"she ain't heaven...she's my mother..." turns out to be "he ain't heavy, he's my brother." (Took a LOT of ridicule when my mom and the lady for whom I was baby-sitting that day (my dear Jan...still love you and if you still read this, I want your email address) tag-teamed teased me on that one). You both should be ashamed, I was just a kid. ;)
So...have spent much of today laughing about "shorty hot pocket." I am awesome. It's a fun time in my brain. Anita is right, the music is in me. Unfortunately, sometimes the lyrics are not...
