Author Archive: Dingleblossom

The Statler Terrors

 

I know I *can’t* be the only one… I just *can’t*. 

As a twangy banjo tune drifts in to the back room, the shudder creeping up my spine signals my fight or flight reflex. My heart rate accelerates, my eyes dilate, my palms shake and shine with perspiration. I close my eyes and try to breathe easy, knowing it will all be over soon… but I can’t help but tremble. It’s happening again and the walls are closing in…

Hubs has broken out his Statler Brothers record.

As the seemingly innocent tune of “Flowers on the Wall” floats back to gently assault my ears, I try to put into words (the very words you fine folk are now reading) just *why* this song creeps me out into a quivering mess. Well, before I dissect the lyrics, I’ll tell you, my fine audience, that super deep male voices in songs give me the shivers. I don’t know why, I admit that this is one of my irrational fears (Of which, I admit, I have many, one more irrational than the last). However, as irrational as it is, there’s no taking it back. Their faces aren’t a convincing case to garner trust, either. I’m pretty sure I might have seen them on America’s Most Wanted.

Jeez, just look at that guy third from the left. My god.

Image

 

 

SO NOW. Let’s examine the lyrics, shall we? *claps hands together*


Flowers on the Wall

I keep hearin’ you’re concerned about my happiness
But all that thought you’re givin’ me is conscience I guess
If I were walkin’ in your shoes I wouldn’t worry none
While you and your friends’re worryin’ bout me I’m havin’ lots of fun
Okay, so far pretty normal…

Chorus:
Countin’ flowers on the wall that don’t bother me at all

Bam. Right off the bat, staring obsessively at the wallpaper,
a la Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” (which gave me nightmares by the way)

 
Playin’ solitare till dawn with a deck of fifty one
OMG DID HE JUST SAY HE’S ONE CARD SHORT OF A FULL DECK? 
What kind of person plays solitaire all night?
 
Smokin’ cigarettes and watchin’ Captain Kangaroo
Now don’t tell me I’ve nothing to do
I… I have nothing to say about this. Fairly normal. 
 
*end chorus*
 
Last night I dressed in tails pretended I was on the town
Holy hell. 
 
As long as I can dream it’s hard to slow this swinger down
He is fantasizing like a madman, isn’t he? Swinger,hmmm? How many folks have you mentally assaulted?
And dressing up and pretending to be somewhere else…
Is he trapped, or have the illusion of entrapment? I’m reminded again of “The Yellow Wallpaper”.
 
So please don’t give a thought to me I’m really doin’ fine
You can always find me here I’m havin’ quite a time
Apart from failing to convince anyone, this still seems fairly innocent.

Chorus

It’s good to see you I must go I know I look a fright
Anyway my eyes are not accustomed to this light

WOW. That totally doesn’t sound like you’ve been secretly tailing someone or anything. 
And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete
Oh good, tailing this person in an alley. Super.
 
So I must go back to my room and make my day complete
So we already know he plays solitaire for about eight hours straight.
So I’m guessing he sleeps all day, unless there’s something else that we don’t know…
Chorus
Don’t tell me I’ve nothing to do
 
 
So now all you fine people have an idea on why this song gives me the shivers. I’d like to point out that this song was in Pulp Fiction, and, as I’m sure you all know that Tarantino is kinda creepy anyway. I’m also going to point out that Hubs said I was over-analyzing this song, but pronounced it anal-yzing, which does not help his case. 

 

Advertisements

Noob 2.0

Well, here I go again. I had a blog before once upon a time, but I had to put the poor dear down. It looked like a GeoCities monstrosity. That, and I have a nasty habit of throwing away things I write. I get nervous and simply trash it. Now I realize I have a lot to say, and I’m sure my coworkers are tired of my babble. So, I shall purge it out onto the internet. I’m sure very few will actually read this, considering even Midwestern housewives have one these days. (I’m imagining lots and lots of bland, inoffensive scrapbooking.) However, I don’t mind getting lost in the fuzzies. Sometimes being faceless can bring the most peace of mind. (Wow, I’m so deep I can’t even see myself.)