In The Sandwich Waiting Line

Wait in line
Til my time
Choosin’ which
Kinda sandwich
Everyone choosing different kinds of bread
Different kinds of bread
Everyone choosing different kinds of bread
Different kinds of bread
Oooooh
Do you believe in muenster cheese?
There doesn’t seem to be anybody else who agrees with me
Do you believe
In muenster cheese?
Goes well with meat
Goes well with wheat
Taking my time
In the sandwich waiting line
Do you believe
In muenster cheese?

Every time I listen to “Love Story” I wonder how much time passed between her daddy saying “stay away from Juliet” to the time the dude pulled out a ring and said “marry me Juliet.”

Don’t you?

Ok, over it. Don’t care anymore because “Mean” started playing.

Every time I listen to “Love Story” I wonder how much time passed between her daddy saying “stay away from Juliet” to the time the dude pulled out a ring and said “marry me Juliet.”

Don’t you?

Ok, over it. Don’t care anymore because “Mean” started playing.

Take away my access to iMovie.

danforth

danforth:

Still in my top ten favorite songs. It’s got two important elements: decency and a very effectively placed minor chord. Slays me.

-

Danforth’s recent audio post was a very important one, so here I am reblogging it.

Growing up watching Mary Poppins whenever I had the opportunity, I found myself enjoying all the songs but "Feed the Birds." I remember tuning it out. Leaving the room. Rolling my eyes at this music cue that seemed to have no purpose in advancing the movie’s narrative. Sure, there was something cool about the snow globe (there’s always something cool about a snow globe), but I responded poorly to the song’s darkness and was so, so, so confused by British currency. Tuppence? Guiney? Pound? Quid? What was the difference? What’s the equivalent in dollars? How much is a homeless woman’s bag of crumbs in America? Let’s get back to the chimney sweeps. Let’s do more merry-go-round races. Mary, I Love You But Your Somber Interlude Is Bringing Me Down.

So away the song went - part of my Mary Poppins memory pack, but by no means a significant blip in my brain. That is, until this week when I heard it out of context (as a song, not a skippable scene) for the first time in my life. What I’m saying, I think, is that it’s very easy for me to look at that annoying Kindergarten through Senior Year photo collage my mother has of me in her upstairs hallway and think, “Oh god I’m exactly the same,” but I’m not. Not really. I like different songs in Mary Poppins now.

But if we’re talking about Bedknobs & Broomsticks, the best song is still “Portabello Road.” I haven’t changed that much. Idiots.

Low points.

One of the lowest points of my life occurred during the summer of 2005. Prepare yourself, reader, because things are about to get real.

I was still in college and, after being persuaded by a number of friends who were also planning to work there, accepted a summer job at a Jewish Community Center. During the interview I was asked, “Have you ever worked with children before?”

As an honest human I responded, “Nope. Not in any capacity.”

He made me the Senior Camp Counselor for a group of 5-year-olds.

I could write thousands of words about how ill-prepared I was for that job and how I wound up loving it and how much the kids taught me about trust and what it truly means to be responsible for someone and the words to every song from “High School Musical,” but this isn’t about all that; this is about an argument I had with a 5-year-old girl about Natasha Bedingfield.

They were singing “Unwritten” a cappella.

The queen bee, Cameron, led her workers in song. “No one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in. No one else, no one else, can speak the words on your list.” It was then that I made the mistake of correcting them mid-song.

"It’s actually ‘lips." ‘Speak the words on your lips.’"

"NO IT ISN’T. HAHA," she said as a way of riling up her troops. "BOBBY THINKS IT’S ‘SPEAK THE WORDS ON YOUR LIPS’."

"I don’t just think it, I know it. You speak words on your lips, not lists."

"NO, IT’S A LIST OF WORDS."

"People don’t just make lists of words. It’s lips. It means saying the words you want to say without feeling afraid to say them. Exactly what’s on your mind. Being brave."

"LIST, LIST, LIST," Cameron chanted. The room was soon filled with children echoing her protest. It was like watching a falsetto Norma Rae on the world’s smallest TV screen. I asked my co-counselor for backup.

"Jessica, is it ‘list’ or ‘lips’?!?! Do you speak words on your list or your lips?!?!” Refusing to get involved, she shook her head. Smart girl. I was suddenly overcome by the most embarrassing revelation of my entire life: I was arguing with a girl who just finished pre-school about a Natasha Bedingfield song. I was legally allowed to drink alcohol and this kid couldn’t even read. "FINE. IT’S LIST." 

The cheers of triumphant children filled the room because, though I was right, they had beaten the “adult.”

And that was the day my book began.