Wednesday's Song of the Week

This morning I came in from my morning run with Back On My Feet (GIMME YO MONIES) to find B hovering around the television because "HELLO the most important game for teams who want to qualify for the World Cup is on today and oh my GAH they aren't telling me what channel it's going to be on and I need to record it and U.S. and Mexico and WHY WON'T YOU JUST TELL ME THE CHANNEL?" or something like that, which is a lot of words for B before he's had his morning tea, so I was impressed.

But then ESPN cut to commercial, and as B was writhing on the floor, one of those new iPhone commercials came on to tell me exactly why my life is incomplete without an iPhone and if I don't get one soon, before you know it I'm going to be lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood with no handy GPS in my pocket to tell me the way back and then even worse, I'm going to hear a song I really like blasting from some window and I'm not going to know the name and I won't have anything to tell me what it is and then I'll want to entertain myself by recording my voice and playing it back all sped up like Alvin and the Chipmunks and yes I WOULD like my own personal tour of Paris, BUT I WON'T BE ABLE TO and suddenly there's a million useless things that I can't do but I want to do and I don't know how I've survived this long without doing them.

ANYWAY. The iPhone commercial. You know when you're all uppity and you hear a song and you feel like if you don't scream the words along your chest might pop? It could be the worst song in the world but if you know the words and you don't spew them from your mouth your eyes just might roll into the back of your head. Luckily, the one on the commercial was just what I wanted to hear. And obviously they don't play the songs' lyrics on the iPhone commercials, because how else would you hear the voice telling you why your regular cell phone is a pile of cow poop that will absolutely be the death of you when you least expect it because can your regular cell phone save you from a bear attack? NO. But can the iPhone? MAYBE.

But that piano from Matt Costa's "Mr. Pitiful" was playing away and it didn't even matter that I always get his name wrong and call him Bob Costas kind of like how B always calls Sheryl Crow Shania Twain* and I put my cereal bowl down and jumped off the couch and was all "YOUR MR. PIT, MR. PIT. MR. PITIFUL, WHO LET YOU DOWN? WHO LET YOU DOOOWWNN?" And B turned to me all exorcist like and recited the words to "Helter Skelter" backwards was all "CAN'T YOU SEE I'M TRYING TO LISTEN? I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR, LIKE, 12 MINUTES FOR THEM TO TELL ME THE CHANNEL OF THIS SOCCER GAME?" as he projectile vomited green stuff all over the living room. So naturally, I sang louder.

And now you can too.



* "Shania hates mayo all right, and she can't eat chicken salad." Tweet