Thursday, July 23, 2009
songs of the common man
Quick, I need help.
(Yes yes, I need help, but this is more of the short term variety):
Which, out of these songs, would you sing if you had to sing, say, to a crowd, karaoke-fashion?
Please take into account entertainment value, possible shock value, wobbling about in heels value, and to the smallest degree, pitch, tone and high note value.
1) Usher’s Love In This Club (Sidenote: Total hit in Berlin. Just ask The Dove, who was hiding behind a giant boot filled with beer, while I sashayed about shaking my pelvis. The entire dance floor at The Hoff Bar, kind of evacuated. And the DJ completely disappeared. I’d like to think it’s because they wanted to make room for my exclusive performance.)
2) Rihanna’s Umbrella (Sidenote: Yes, the most annoying song on the planet, only seconded by Scatman Fucking John’s solo album, but everyone knows the words. Also a hit in Amsterdam with a bunch of Man-U shirt wearing Scousers at some pub in the redlight district.)
3) Roxette’s Sleeping In My Car. (Sidenote: My cornerstone at The Colony Arms. Back in the day when I’d venture over there every Saturday evening, drink 8000 cane and cream sodas, and then amongst the foray of disgustingness, and under the tasteful mood lighting of dinginess.com, would belt out this bad boy, often whilst dry humping the bathroom wall for maximum effect.
4) Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean. Not my personal favourite MJ, but as far as upbeat tributes are concerned, it’s a winner. We Are The World might evoke mass suicide.
So. I have a huge Mushy Peas event happening in honour of my book this evening. This ties into it, can you believe it. God help me.
It’s going to be wicket though. Except that I usually get all tongue-tied and ridiculously nervous. Especially in front of a 100+ crowd.
(TV and radio is a synch; live crowds are just scary.)
And may Clicks down the road stock enough Biral to knock out a fleet of obese airforce marines. Or not, because that won’t work for me either.
I’m terrified but I’m also terribly excited for tonight’s kick-off.
In other news, last night my pilates instructor was talking about her beach ball like it was a human being.
How delightfully odd.
I’ve heard people talk about their cat like it was their boyfriend, but this was a rather eccentric surprise:
Instructor: Yeah, I’m kind of upset. I’ve lost my ball.
Peas: There are lots here though.
Instructor: Yes but he was seriously special. He sometimes looked oval too. I miss him. I really want him to come back to me.
Peas: Why not just….buy another ball?
Instructor: I can’t just replace him like that, Peas. He was my favourite. And now I think [gasp] someone stole him from me. Right under my nose.
Peas: Again. I’m sure you can get another one just like…him?
Instructor: No! And the moment I replace him, watch, just like all the other bloody lot, he’ll come rolling back into my life. They always do.Watch. The moment I find another one.
Although… ah. I’ve just remembered. I left him at the other studio. Where he’s not so big and the other balls are also oval so he doesn’t feel left out or, you know, big.
Peas: Ok then...
Instructor: Yeah he’ll be happier. I just want him to be happy. I’ll just have to move on and try to forget about him.
Peas: Yes that’s probably a good idea.
Instructor: Ssh. We mustn’t actually talk about him too loudly, because the other balls will get offended. Then act all offy and aloof and stuff.
Peas: Yes. Because…he’s clearly moved on. But look on the bright side, there are plenty of balls in the sea.
Oh dear. Now all I can think of is a big ballocky nutsack. Interesting.