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I can’t wait for summer!  Dazzling beams of sunlight will shine across the land as the scent of barbecues, sun block and chlorinated pools waft through the air.  My pasty, winterized complexion will glow like polished copper as I revel in the freedom of halter-tops and linen skirts rather than being confined by bulky sweaters.

Summer is perfect.  Except for one thing: the radio.

Radio stations seem to condense their playlists to a handful of records come summertime.  Once you’ve heard Buster Poindexter’s Hot, Hot, Hot for the fifteenth time in a week, you may start longing for the season of snowballs being hurled at your head.

Thus, I’m offering a partial list of summer’s most grating tunes.  With any luck, the great DJ in the sky will command his minions to spare us these don’ts.

Don’t: Hot in the City, Billy Idol

To a pubescent Midwestern gal, Billy Idol was like the wrong-side-of-the-tracks hunk all the girls avoided in class but secretly liked.  His badass snarl was almost enough to lure me away from the sleeker, more pristine desires stirred by Duran Duran.  White Wedding was creepily sexy while Rebel Yell had me crying, “more, more, more” even though I was too young to have any idea what I wanted more of.  But this Hot in the City baloney?  Sounds like the banal workings of Neil Diamond being played by a Springsteen cover band.  Barf.

Don’t: Kokomo, Beach Boys

I’m no Beach Boys fan.  However, I do find myself wanting to strap on a bikini and sip Sunkist whenever I hear their faux tropical sounds.  But Kokomo blows.  With its slothy, cheesily flirtatious chorus, it’s the musical incarnation of a creepy, pina colada sipping grandpa sliming around a cruise ship hitting on barely legals.  I bet the Beach Boys don’t even like this tune.

Don’t: Summertime, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince

After the phenomenally goofy yet funky Parents Just Don’t Understand, Will Smith and his buddy had a tough act to follow.  To this day, whenever someone starts a sentence with, “okay, here’s the situation,” I always reply, “your parents went away on a week’s vacation?”  Summertime definitely has a lazy day vibe and didn’t bother me the first sixteen thousand times I heard it.  But the song lacks pizzazz.  When I hear it, I don’t want to sit back and unwind.  I want to hear Parents Just Don’t Understand.  Plus, the song just reminds us of how much it must suck to be DJ Jazzy Jeff watching the Fresh Prince become the megastar that is Will Smith.   

Don’t: Cruel Summer, Bananarama

I must admit to having had Bananarama records in my youth and can tell you Cruel Summer was one of their least interesting hits, especially when you consider they had a tune called Robert DeNiro’s Waiting.  But that song was about a victim of abuse escaping her fate by watching the actor’s films.  Meanwhile, Cruel Summer is about a gal being abandoned for the summer by her best pals and boyfriend.  For cripe’s sake, the word “cruel” is in the title.  Not exactly what I call summertime fun.      

Looking for some truly sunny tunes to beat the heat?

Do: (Love Is Like a) Heat Wave, Martha and the Vandellas

I dare you to listen to this song any time of year and not start waving your hands in the air like the lost member of the Supremes.  Besides, I’d rather suffer a heat wave than cruelty during summer.

Do: Hot Fun in the Summertime – Sly and the Family Stone

Hot Fun in the Summertime is balmy and mellow the way a good summertime song should be.  All you wanna do is drink iced tea, party with pals on the beach then slide out of your flip flops and fall asleep in a hammock.  Man, is there better fun than “hot fun?”

Do: Boys of Summer, Don Henley

This tune gets more airplay than Hot, Hot, Hot during the warm months, but to me it screams summer.  Maybe it’s because of images like, “your brown skin shining in the sun.”  Plenty sluggish summer nights back in Ohio were spent eating hot dogs between slices of Wonder Bread and wading through creeks with friends.  Seems Henley’s rustic tunes always made up the soundtrack.  I doubt those wieners would’ve tasted so good if Kokomo was playing.

What summer tunes are your do’s and don’ts?

On the Move

Wow!  I forgot how crazy life gets when you move house.  I’d write a blog post this week, if I could find my computer under all these boxes.

See you next week!

[Image from www.epicself.com]

Memorial Day is not the best time to contemplate one’s mean and bitchy emotions.  But I find myself experiencing feelings I haven’t had in years, possibly since childhood.  These feelings are making me doubt whether I’m a decent person.  And doubting whether you’re a decent person is an even less enjoyable way to spend a weekend.

I don’t like someone.  I wouldn’t say this person merely “bothers” me or makes me want to hide whenever I see her on the street.  No, I’m talking low down, teeth grinding, wish-I-could-hurl-a-basketball-at-her-head contempt.  Certainly, I’d feel bad if something terrible happened to the gal.  But if she ripped her favorite blouse or had a bird crap on her head, I’d pay to be around to see it.

Usually, I’m able to shrug off unpleasant behavior.  I believe people only act like jerks when life is handing them lemons.  I can look past the jerkiness and see the wounded soul.  Moreover, I have a fairly peaceful temperament, so there’s no inner rage to rattle by folks who are acting like boobs.

In truth, this person is no beast.  She’s just petty, selfish and breathtakingly thoughtless.  Though disagreeable, these qualities are not enough to flip my emotional switch from patience to disdain.  However, when these qualities result in behavior that significantly reduces my personal happiness quotient, well, heads will roll.

Fortunately, the realization that I have no fondness for this particular person was quickly followed by an important, somewhat life-altering epiphany.  Perhaps I’ve not allowed myself to dislike many people because of my own need to be liked.  If I actively dislike someone, chances are they won’t like me either.

So I guess I have this person to thank for aiding the maturation process.  What better sign of wisdom and self-possession than not giving a rat’s backside whether everyone in the world thinks you’re swell?  Once I decided it was okay to dislike this person, I stopped accommodating her ridiculously selfish needs and stopped making excuses for her grisly behavior.  I silenced my diplomatic, rational self and showed some anger and teeth.  Man, did it feel luscious.

And I didn’t even need a basketball.

[Image from www.blindgossip.com]

Anyone who believed in the Rapture must be bummed today.  Who wouldn’t look forward to the end of the world in which most of humanity is left to burn in the fiery bowels of Hell?  Personally, I was hoping for the Blondie version of Rapture, where we’d see the man from Mars eatin’ cars and eatin’ bars where the people meet.  That’d be cool.  Especially if Fab Five Freddy showed up.

Undoubtedly, few events are more disappointing than not getting to meet your Lord as planned.  And imagine Monday morning at the office for these people, particularly those who’ve been smug about their impending visit to Heaven.

“So, Jerry, how’d that whole ‘Second Coming’ work out for you?”  Embarrassing.

In an effort to provide some support, I’d like to suggest a few goals these folks can work toward in the aftermath of their botched Rapture.  Get back on the ol’ horse, I say.  None of these ideas are as exciting as Christ’s return to Earth though they’re much easier to pull off.

Call out some prominent person as the Antichrist.

A basic end of the world scenario which hasn’t been used for eons.  The upside is there’s no need to have well-founded evidence.  You could virtually pick a name out of a hat.  Obviously Sarah Palin would make a fab Antichrist selection, but I assume many of our Rapturous friends dig the former governor.  The best choice would be a thoroughly vile person whose public life is so utterly meaningless that it wouldn’t be a loss if they break under the pressure and disappear.  My vote: Snooki.

One word: Technology.

Fundamentalists have to update their brand.  All this Armageddon hoo-hah tires older people and barely resonates with younger fans.  If everybody and their grandmother are online, then that’s how to reach the public.  Why not suggest there are Satanic messages filtering through the public airwaves?  Maybe call the IPad the Devil’s writing tablet.  In fact, why not just tag Steve Jobs as the Antichrist?  Considering how long I have to wait for messages to upload on my IPhone, he just may be.  

Announce Jesus is already among us. 

Tell the world Christ is already walking the planet and drop clues about where he might be.  Say he was seen crossing the Arabian Desert then a month later, leak a photo of a bearded guy walking across a lake in Cleveland.  Everyone will become intensely fascinated and look forward to each new clue.  It’ll be like Where’s Waldo?  Fun for the whole family!

See, Rapturists?  There’s still hope of making a difference.

You know, when I was in first grade, a friend brought me to a church group where I was instructed to invite Jesus Christ into my heart.  They didn’t have to ask me twice.  The thought of having my own personal savior to accompany me through the travails of existence seemed an awesome way to start life.  I prayed my itty bitty heart out and begged Jesus to come inside.  Nada.

As I got older, my spiritual quest continued as did my curiosity about Jesus.  To me, Christ was a fascinating historical figure, a great spiritual leader and a deeply complex man who accepted doubt as an inevitable consequence of human life.  I find it hard to believe a guy who preached universal love would bring only a handful of meatheads to Heaven and leave the rest of us to rot.

I kinda wish my version of Jesus would’ve dropped in on May 21st.  We could totally use the help.

[Image of "Praising Prairie Dogs" by Anthony Falbo from www.falboart.com/Light_Dark_Series/lightdark.htm]

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