Kimopolis

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Then vs. Now. A straightforward interpretation to the classic parental tale. “When I was your age, I had to walk barefoot, 25 miles to school, in the snow, uphill, both ways.” The only difference is my stories are true.

Happy Tears

Posted by kimlno on June 12, 2009

When I was a little girl, I never understood why mommy would cry when she was happy. Crying was something you did when you fell down and skinned you knee, or when you were afraid of the dark. If you were happy, you smiled and laughed.  Crying about something that made you happy was a concept I had yet to grasp. For instance, during my preschool graduation ceremony, we sang “Sing a Song” by the Carpenters. Afterward, my mommy was a weepy mess, and when I asked her why she was crying she said, “Because I love you.”  Since I hadn’t yet mastered the English language, I did my best to convey my confusion by replying, “I can’t know that, mommy.”[1]

Even as I grew older, I could never understand why grown-ups cried at the movies. I mean, it’s JUST a movie, people. But then again, Jaws was just a movie, and it scared me SO much that I believed great whites sharks lurked in the deep end of the pool.[2] The first time a movie made me cry, I was 12 and the movie was Terms of Endearment. When Wonder Girl[3] says goodbye to her sons because she knows she’s about to die, tears began to well up in my eyes. In fact, I’m getting a little choked up thinking of it now. It was sad because I was a little kid, too, about the same age as her oldest son, and I didn’t know what I’d do if I lost my mommy. And, okay…now I AM crying. Excuse me, I need a tissue.

Still, even as I became an adult and was well into my 20s, I never had the experience of “happy tears.” To be honest, I can’t pinpoint the exact event, or moment, which I first cried tears of joy. It just gradually became a part of my emotional repertoire. I tend to forget it’s there until, of course, it’s too late and I am blubbering like a baby and saying things like, “I don’t know why I’m crying” or “How stupid is it that THIS[4] is making me cry?”

Well, last night this irrational and uncontrollable phenomenon occurred while I was watching So You Think You Can Dance. I know, how lame. I mean, it’s a TV show for crying out loud.[5] However, it’s a rare day when you get the chance to see something stunningly beautiful, deeply touching and completely amazing. The means of communication is of little importance. Eight other couples had already danced. Some of them were pretty good, and some of them weren’t. It’s really just the luck of the draw when it comes down to who partners with whom, what genre of dance they’re assigned, and who the choreographer is. Well, the ninth pair of dancers hit the SYTYCD jackpot. They were magical. I can always tell when someone is truly talented and completely committed to performing the absolute best that they can, when the dance seems, somehow, much shorter than the others. I wanted them to continue, but then the dance was over too soon.

But enough about me, please enjoy these two very talented individuals who, by simply dancing to music, touched me and made me cry “happy tears.”


[1] Translation: I don’t get it, lady.
[2] Not the Y pool because it was only 25 yards long and six lanes across. I was specifically referring to the Pepperdine pool which was MUCH larger, and could conceivably hold at least three great white sharks, maybe more.
[3] Debra Winger will always be Wonder Girl to me.
[4] Whatever it may be.
[5] No pun intended.

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Mondegreen is PEOPLE!

Posted by kimlno on May 5, 2009

Preface: A mondegreen is the mishearing or misinterpretation of a phrase, usually in a song. The concept is nothing new, in fact there are several websites dedicated entirely to misheard lyrics. That being said, in doing research for this article (See how I’ve created my own little fantasy world where I refer to these posts as “articles” like I write for a newspaper or a magazine? Hilarious, no?) I checked out a few of those sites, and I have to tell you, I think people are just making stuff up. No, really. It’s like they took the published lyrics and ran them through a “rhyme machine” then picked the ones they thought were the funniest. How lame/stupid is that? Whatever, these are my very own 100% true lyrical errors, and, let’s be completely honest, isn’t everything better when I’m the one telling the story? Exactly. Proceed!

In the olden days, when iPods were called the “radio” and CDs were giant disks made of shiny black vinyl, the lyrics of any song were open to interpretation. If you couldn’t quite decipher what the lead singer was saying, even after picking up the needle, moving it back a smidge, and listening to it again, most people just made up words that seemed to make sense. Occasionally, you’d hit the Lyric Jackpot and an album would come with the words to the songs printed on the sleeve, but that wasn’t always foolproof. Sometimes those crazy rock and rollers liked to mix things up in the recording session and tweak the lyrics to their liking. And then there are a whole slew of bands that really didn’t want their listeners to know exactly what they were saying, so they mumbled a lot. Famous mumblers include Bob Dylan, Kurt Cobain, and James Brown. Sure, they are all musical geniuses, but exact enunciation was not of utmost importance.

The only way a person would know if the lyrics he used were incorrect was if someone else was singing along with him, in the car let’s say, and brought it to his immediate attention. This usually took the form of enthusiastic mockery and the verbal assault of incredulity of one’s unprecedented stupidity.

Without further ado, here are five examples of my lyrical misconceptions:

Song: “Come Sail Away” by Styx
My Lyrics: I’m sailing away, set an open course for the Virgin Sea
Actual Lyrics: I’m sailing away, set an open course full of urgency

Now, I ask you, don’t my lyrics make more sense? I mean, he’s sailing, right? And where do you sail? On the sea, right? The Virgin Sea was obviously the waters surrounding the Virgin ISLANDS, no? Even when I was older, and I had learned that the ocean surrounding the Virgin Islands was called the Caribbean* I STILL justified my lyrics by thinking the “virgin sea” was just a jaunty seafaring term for undiscovered waters. When I finally learned of the actual lyrics, my initial response was, “How dumb.” I mean, really. “Full of urgency” makes it sound as if Denis DeYoung has to tinkle, not sail away. And, let’s be realistic here, if one needs to go somewhere urgently, wouldn’t an airplane be a more logical choice than a dinghy? Moving on…

“Little Red Corvette” by Prince
My Lyrics: Well, honey, I said feel it comin’
Actual Lyrics: Well, honey, I said little red corvette

I know. How could I be so oblivious? The truth is, I didn’t really know much about Prince until Purple Rain came out, and I never went back to investigate his older stuff until I was much older, and that included the album 1999. So, therefore, I’d never actually seen the title of Little Red Corvette written down. I knew the song, but the fact that it was about a car went completely over my head. Oops. My bad. Years later, when Prince officially changed his name into an unpronounceable symbol, forcing everyone refer to him as “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince,” and then reneged said decree not long afterward, I figured we were about even.

“Golden Slumbers” by The Beatles
My Lyrics: Once there was a way to get back on a word
Actual Lyrics: Once there was a way to get back homeward

Some of you might be scratching your heads right about now and thinking, “What does ‘get back on a word’ even MEAN?” And to that I say, “I don’t know!” To get back on a word was obviously just a grown-up way of saying “take that back!” It was an expression of regret, y’know, like when you’ve said something really horrible to someone and you wish you could travel back in time and un-say it. Look, Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees were completely devastated! Peter only true love, Strawberry, was dead, and it was all Steven Tyler and Joe Perry’s fault! Pete just wanted to take back the harsh words he unleashed on Strawberry when she caught him getting a bit too friendly with that manipulative slut, Lucy. If Billy Preston hadn’t shown up when he did, Peter would’ve successfully committed suicide. (I bet you didn’t know Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was so dramatic, did you?) In reality, I was just a little kid and my only real defense is that it made sense at the time. Plus, the next line of lyrics is: Once there was a way to get back home. So, why would John and Paul use practically the same exact words twice? I mean, they were two of the greatest song writers of ALL TIME, and you expect me to believe that they couldn’t think of another word besides “home?” It doesn’t even rhyme, for crying out loud!

“When I Grow Up” by The Pussycat Dolls
Disclaimer: Although the Pussycat Dolls are an abomination and should be stopped for encouraging innocent little girls to become Pole Dancers, this is an awesome song to work out to, so save your music critique. I know, okay?
My Lyrics: When I grow up, I wanna be famous, I wanna be a star, I wanna have boobies
Actual Lyrics: When I grow up, I wanna be famous, I wanna be a star, I wanna have groupies

I don’t know about you, but when I was a little girl, I wanted to have boobies WAY MORE than I wanted to have groupies. Hey, I’m just sayin’. And yes, I did want to be famous and a star, too. But I suppose the actual lyrics make more sense than my lyrics when evaluating the song as a cohesive collection of thoughts (bet you never imagined you’d see the word “thought” associated with the PCD, did you?). “Boobies” just works better for me. It’s a personal choice. Boobies Bonus: now that I am older and have been generously blessed by the Booby Fairy, I can work accentuating my top-notch rack into the performance of the song. (Don’t ask.)

“Sunday Bloody Sunday” by U2
My Lyrics: Someday, buddy, someday
Actual Lyrics: Sunday, Bloody Sunday

This particular lyric mishap wins, hands down, the Most Totally Moded, Bag Your Face award. You see, I sang those completely incorrect lyrics quite loudly at a U2 concert, until the people in the row in front of me took the time to correct me. Thanks. Perhaps some of you might remember a prior reference to this concert. That’s because it was chock full of awkward teenage moments that no amount of therapy could ever allow me to forget. As well as being completely and utterly mortified when I discovered that the lyrics I was singing weren’t the lyrics to the song AT ALL, and the fact that the central message of the lyrics was crucial to the song even being written, this is also the concert where I smoked at least a whole pack of Marlboro Reds by myself. Not surprisingly, I haven’t touched a cigarette since. It may also explain why I don’t particularly care for U2.

Well, I think I’ve aired enough of my dirty laundry for one day. If you have any real mondegreen humdingers, I’d love to hear them. Until then, I bid you adieu.

*Do you say Care-a-BEE-an or Ca-RIB-ee-an? Heh. That reminds me of a funny story. In college, I threw an end of the session party for the peeps in my class. We were all about to embark on different paths to higher learning, and since we’d been in the same classes for a considerable amount of time, I felt it was appropriate to have one last hurrah. We were an eclectic bunch, to say the least, and one guy in particular was known only as “the Quiet Dude.” He was the guy who never said anything, ever, unless he had to. And that was cool with me (more time for me to talk, natch). So, there we were, about six or seven of us out on my balcony, because I didn’t allow people to smoke in my apartment…well, not cigarettes anyway. We were having the conversation you have with people who grew up in different parts of the world about proper pronunciation. Y’know, the “you say po-TAY-tow, I say po-TOT-toe” rigmarole. When we had pretty much exhausted our combined knowledge of vocabulary choices, the Quiet Dude says, “Do you say CLITTER-is or clit-TOR-is?” And for one one-hundredth of a second it got so quiet you could hear a pin drop, which was immediately followed by uproarious laughter the likes of which I’ve yet to encounter again. Here’s to all the “Quiet Dudes” out there, you may not say much, but when you do, it’s awesome.**

**Heh. Heh. Heh. That story reminds me of another pronunciation conversation I had with two lovely Canadians whilst I was visiting the beautiful city of Vancouver. Well, Vancouver is in Canada, as you well know, and the general consensus amongst most Americans is that they (the Canucks) talk funny. So imagine my surprise when upon arrival I was immediately accosted regarding how I pronounce certain words. I mean, I’d literally just stepped off the plane and into the car when the “Laugh-at-the-silly-American” game ensued. If you haven’t played that game before, it’s kind of like charades but with words. The trick is, the Canadian cannot say the actual word they have in mind, because then it wouldn’t be as funny, and it would turn into a game of “Laugh-at-the-silly-Canadian.” The three words I was to guess were: decal, badminton and lieutenant. It was so strange. I had never had anyone mock my accent before, because I don’t have one. Or, at least, I don’t think I do. It’s not like I’m from the South or Brooklyn or anything. I suppose I say “like” too often and probably “oh my god” more than necessary, but other than those language markers no one would know I was from California just from hearing me speak. Would they? ANYeh, you may now return to the previous article already in progress.

loserEditor’s Note: Um, yeah. So as I was scouring the interwebs to find an image to add to this post, I came across some rather significant information that would’ve been considerably more helpful had I discovered it BEFORE I published this. But, I am all about owning up to my mistakes no matter how really, really stupid they are. Turns out, Dennis DeYoung is not the imbecile I accused him of being. See, the ACTUAL lyrics to “Come Sail Away” ARE “set an open course for the virgin sea,” and NOT “set an open course full of urgency.” The latter would be entirely MY own creation, and officially makes ME the imbecile. Whoops. That being said, I still think what I wrote was funny, so I’m not going to edit it out just to save face.

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Does Barry Manilow Know That You Raid His Wardrobe?

Posted by kimlno on March 12, 2009

In 1977, the year Jimmy Carter was elected as our 39th President of the United States, I was introduced to Barry Manilow by my Aunt Judy. Not the man himself (I would never be that lucky), but his songs, by way of a totally dated music format, the 8-track. My aunt was WAY ahead of her time; most automobiles back then were only equipped with radios (an AM radio, not one of those fancy-schmancy technologically advanced AM/FM radios). To this day, my aunt remains to be the only person I have ever met who had an 8-track player in her car. What can I say? My aunt Judy was cool.

Sonny and Cher Dolls.

Sonny and Cher Dolls.

During summer vacations, I would frequently go over to my aunt and uncle’s house in Calabasas and hang out with my cousins. Why? They had a pool. Plain and simple. Plus, her daughter, Mandy, is my same age, and she had a TON of Barbies and Barbie accouterments. Mandy owned the most coveted Barbie of all, which wasn’t really a Barbie…it was a Cher doll. And let me tell you, Cher had a ridiculously awesome wardrobe for a doll, not to mention long black hair that hung down practically to her ankles. Mandy always had the best toys. *SIGH*

On a typical day we would spend half the time in the pool, or until our fingertips puckered, began to turn white and peel off, and then the rest of the day we’d play Barbies in Mandy’s room. It was about as close to paradise a 6-year-old could get. Often, after we’d spent hours getting Barbie and her friends properly dressed, styled, and settled in Barbie’s Townhouse with its real working elevator (See? I TOLD you she had the best toys), her brother Cam would burst into the room, grab the Barbie Townhouse with both hands, and proceed to violently shake the Townhouse back and forth while screaming, “EARTHQUAKE!” Barbie, her friends, and all her furniture would be flung free of the structure creating what can only be described as a Barbie Massacre. As a kid, my cousin Cam was a total dick. Mandy may have had the best toys, but she had the worst brother. Cam constantly made me thankful that I was an only child.

Whenever my aunt had errands to run, she’d coerce us into going with her by dangling the promise of a special “surprise” if we behaved ourselves. Really, we had no choice in the matter. Who would leave two small children at home alone while she went shopping? Hmm. That’s strange. I don’t remember Cam ever joining us on our excursions. I wonder what Judy did with him when we went with her on errands?

ANYsheprobablylockedhimintheclosetuntilwereturnedbutthatispurelyconjectureasIhavenoproof, we’d all squeeze into the front seat of her big diesel Mercedes, and because I was the shortest, I had to sit in the middle…on the dreaded bump. Not the seat bump, in this instance, but the floor bump. As far as the seat was concerned, I was situated in the crevasse, so to speak. Sometimes, when both my aunt and my cousin exited the automobile at the same time, the crevasse would close up and before I could slide out of the car, the back of my thighs would be pinched between the seat cushions. It was a small price to pay in order to have absolute power over the tape deck. Every once in a while, my aunt would allow Mandy and me to sit together in the backseat and pretend like she was our chauffeur, but she preferred it if we all sat together in the front.

Barry Manilow Live 8-Track Tape.

Barry Manilow Live 8-Track Tape.

It seems like the only tape that was ever in the deck was Barry Manilow Live. It was blue and it stuck out just enough to be able to read the title and see Barry’s upside-down disembodied head. In a related anecdote, the first time I saw the album cover in its entirety I was SHOCKED to Barry sporting a skin-tight, powder blue jumpsuit. After seeing that, there was no doubt that Barry was indeed Jewish, if you get my drift. We listened to that tape so often that I still have most of the album memorized. It starts off with cheering and music, and then some lady (I assume one of his back-up singers) announces, “Ladies and gentleman, Mr. Barry Manilow!” With that, the music changes to a psst-ta psst-ta psst-ta beat (very “Solid Gold”). A few bars of that finger-snapping rhythm, and the MANilow himself says, “Hello New York!” and immediately launches into a jazzy rendition of “Riders to the Stars,” that is so exhilarating it could wake the dead. All three of us would sing along as we made our way down Ventura Boulevard to Gemco.
GemCo, in my humble opinion, was the best store to ever exist in the entire universe. It was like 10 stores in one. There was nothing you couldn’t buy at Gemco. Now, those kind of places are a dime a dozen (Wal-Mart, Target, etc.), but back in 1976 that store was special and unique. They sold everything from fine jewelry to groceries to clothes. They also sold gas, electronics, toys, hardware, sporting goods and they even filled prescriptions. While my aunt was doing her weekly shopping, my cousin and I were permitted to go off on our own and explore. Our favorite thing to do was to hide out underneath the large, round racks of clothes. No one ever knew we were there…it was kinda like a couch fort, but instead of couch cushions there were rows of peasant blouses and flared jeans.

Gemco

Gemco

Having free reign in Gemco led to a life-long fantasy of “accidentally” being locked in the store overnight. Thankfully, I was fortunate enough to live the dream vicariously through the film Career Opportunities, a badly marketed and poorly titled John Hughes film starring a young Jennifer Connelly back when she had huge knockers and eyebrows like Leonid Brezhnev. I fondly refer to those early years as the “Labyrinth Age.” For those of you who share my dream of spending the night in a department store, I’ve included my favorite scene (ROLLER SKATING!) for your viewing pleasure. Click HERE.

Once Mandy and I had explored every nook and cranny of Gemco, and my aunt was finished with her shopping, we were usually rewarded with a trip to Ferrell’s for ice cream sundaes (Tin Roof, no whipped cream, my usual). Of course on the way over to Ferrell’s we continued to listen to Barry belt out the classics: “New York City Rhythm,” “Jump Shout Boogie,” a rare medley of “Could It Be Magic” and “Mandy,” “Daybreak,” and, of course, “I Write the Songs.” But the absolute most excellent song on the entire album has to be “A Very Strange Melody,” and I bet you’ve never even heard of it. You see, before Barry was a big star, he wrote advertising jingles to pay the bills, and some rather well-known ones at that.

Barry Manilow got mad skillz. During the medley, he sings about five or six jingles including ones for Dr. Pepper (“the most original soft drink ever in the whole wide world”), State Farm (“like a good neighbor, State Farm is there”), Stridex (“give your face something to smile about”), Band-Aid (“I am stuck on Band-Aid, ‘cause Band-Aid’s stuck on me”), Pepsi (“all across the nation, it’s a Pepsi generation”), and McDonald’s (“you deserve a break today”). However, regardless of how famous his other jingles were, the one that makes them all pale in comparison, my personal favorite, and truly a work of art, is this little ditty*:

There’s barkin’ in the the kitchen
Yellin’ in the hall
Ringin’ at the door bell
Poundin’ on the wall
Kids out of sight
And kids in the wa-ay-ay
No time to cook on this hectic day
Come on, come on, come on
Get a bucket of chicken
Finger lickin’ good
Have a barrel of fun
Goodbye ho-hum
Say hello to your family
Come on everyone
To Kentucky Fried Chicken
Have a barrel of fu-uh-uh-un!

I told you he’s a GENIUS. And no matter how sophisticated, or pretentious, my musical tastes may become, I will always love Barry Manilow.

*To sing along, click HERE.

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A Place Where Nobody Dared To Go

Posted by kimlno on March 9, 2009

Whenever I’m feeling down or like life sucks, I watch a little Xanadu.

Some people drink, some people do drugs, some even eat an entire pint of Haagen-Dazs Peanut Butter and Chocolate ice cream*, but I find the one guaranteed remedy for the blues is ONJ+ ELO. Whether it makes you laugh, or cry, or sing a long…life is better after a dose of the ‘Du.

So, sit back. Relax. Crank up the volume, make sure you’re watching this in HD, and enjoy.

*Okay, I do all those things, too.

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