My brother-in-law cannot stand two things: Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” and the fact that anyone else provides the voice of Kermit the Frog. If you want to see a grown-up flip right on out, have Steve Whitmire or Matt Vogel (the previous and current voice actors for our favorite green fellow) sing the “Eye of the Tiger.” Hrm… I wonder if that’s doable. I’ll stick a pin in that idea. If someone were to play that song, he’d get up and leave immediately. People have challenged him, only to discover that he was not kidding. I know of another woman, a friend of a friend, who apparently takes great personal offense at the size of Jupiter… the planet. Why does it have to be so big? What is it trying to prove? (She’s not actually kidding. She’d like some answers there. The sooner those are forthcoming, the better.)
… and I’ve laughed at these. Retelling the stories with a snort and a giggle. HAH! Seriously? So crazy! So irrational!
Then out came my Jupiter in the middle of New Zealand.
“…and over there is where they filmed Bilbo’s birthday scene… over 100 actors were… blahblahblahblah” droned our super enthusiastic tour guide.
My brain exploded with expletives –
“Are you kidding me? F*ing Bilbo and his 500-page bloody birthday bash. Yeah, we get it, guy. You’re super old. No one needs 500 pages to drive that point home. This isn’t Dickens. Your author wasn’t paid per page or chapter to paint the world’s most annoyingly painful overly-described scene. No. He did it because he’s a sadistic word monster. It’s like that godforsaken turtle in Grapes of Wrath all over again. Just cross the road, turtle! More words to prove that you have a myriad mad skills at avoiding saying ‘very very very very very.’ Get on with it. ‘And all the little hobbits flapped their little feet in rhythm and cheered, “Happy Bloody Birthday, Bilbo.”’ Eat a noonsy or a gazillionth breakfast or whatever you lazy little hobbits need to do to get on with your adventure, form your fellowship, and finally change the bloody POV to Frodo FFS. For all that is holy, wrap it up and get those furry feet to the Prancing Pony, which has undoubtedly become a sinkhole in Middle Earth after being boarded up for five centuries. OMG!!!!!!”
Ok, I didn’t say much of that out loud, just some of it, and mostly to my friend Julie but honestly, all of that and much worse raced through my mind.
As I looked out on that empty field, with its lovely little maypole, I hissed silently – joy turned to unadulterated loathing – “hobbbitsesssss birthdays, we hates them, Precious.”
My friends will occasionally and quite foolishly (naively??) try and cajole me out of this crazy, “Beth, it’s not that bad…” “WRONG, IT’S 10,000x WORSE!!” “You could just skip that chapter, y’know.” “I could, but what if there’s something in the minutiae of the dumb fireworks that I need later???? You don’t know!!” “Umm…” “Yeah, exactly. Harumph.” The subject is almost immediately dropped because hey, we’re at an impasse, I’m in full-blown, unapologetic, insane mode and it’s probably better to say something like “ooh, how about those puppies! Those wiggly happy bodies! Plump little bellies, huh?!!” Because who can be mad about adorable puppies? No one!
I took a moment sometime later to again reflect on my overreaction to a single chapter, and I realized that Bilbo’s Birthday is really only one of my Jupiters – one of my Eye of the Tigers.
Soooo… funny thing. It turns out I have an entire solar system. I winced a bit in acknowledgment
Let’s Talk Jazz
I’m not talking the jazz age of the 20’s & 30’s or even New Orleans-style jazz. No, I mean the post-war era free jazz most often heard in the 1950’s and 60’s. It has less structure – less form and is more of an exploration. And… it’s basically the musical equivalent of Bilbo’s birthday to me.
You may recall that some time ago I gave dating sites a try (turns out there’s not a Jay 2.0, but that’s beside the point). Well, on one of those sites they asked, “What are your hobbies?” and I wrote “making fun of jazz” because it’s jazz and making fun of it brings me joy – you can collect stamps, paint watercolor goldfish, craft decoupage poodles if it amuses you, and I’ll poke fun at jazz (it’s a big boy/girl, it can take it – you don’t have to run to its defense). Well, some fella took great exception to this and sent me a note, “Making fun of jazz isn’t a hobby” and I wrote him back, “then you’re doing it wrong.” Weird how that didn’t work out.
Honestly, I can’t explain why or what it is about it that I dislike so intensely. (Did I mention these are irrational reactions?) I can’t show you on a doll where it bad-touched my tympanic membrane. Maybe it’s Muzak’s fault? Maybe it’s buried trauma from being stuck in an elevator/lift or placed on hold indefinitely one too many times. “Your call is important to us and will be answered in the order it was received. Please stay on the line and a customer support agent will be with you shortly. Now we return you to that one song. The only song. This three bar masterwork that we plucked from Dante’s very own Inferno collection – the one currently filling the level of Hell you find yourself indefinitely stuck in. Please enjoy it over the next hour as you regret the life choices that brought you to this specific moment. Say goodbye to your soul. Thank you.”
Whatever the cause, I simply don’t enjoy it – I don’t like the brush tapping against the cymbals. I don’t like the lengthy solos, or the musicians occasionally seeming at odds as they try to discover a direction. That said, I appreciate the genuine talent. It’s just not for me.
There are more Jupiters, but we’ll save those for later.
In the meantime, I’ll bring you some jazz I do enjoy! 🙂