the Beatles :: Two of Us
The summer of 2002 I was Ben’s babysitter. Ben was three, I was 21, and we were together all day Monday through Friday, and this was our theme song.
We had the Ocean Mist (a.k.a. purple) Honda mini van, a credit card, and summer days at our disposal. We could be seen often at the Evanston beach and the Lucky Platter. We went to the Lincoln Park Zoo twice a week the whole summer. Like the zoo, we never got tired of this song. I would put it on and Ben would stop what he was doing and stand up in a position I call the A-frame: legs a bit wider than hip width apart, then he’d start swaying side to side, lifting one leg at a time to the music. The best part was that he’d also sing along, which was more like a wail and/or a sigh and included grunts and head bobs while trying to keep up with the beat. It kind of went like this: “twou ush…reedin..nowha…..I gown hoom!” He’d usually end the song with a big leap, flailing arms, and collapse on the floor.
There were times when we’d be in the basement play room (a.k.a. the primary colored plastic palace), I would be sitting on the couch saying things like, “for the love of Jezuz Cristo, I need to talk to someone who is more than three years old. If I have to play that game one more time where he’s the lion and I’m the tiger and I never win, why I’m gonna…I’m gonna….What’s that Ben? You want to listen to Twou Ush? Awesome.”
And have you ever heard ‘normal’ kids music? Like this Ralph’s World guy? Seriously, who sings about boogers and days when mom gets mad? Maybe we liked Two of Us that much more because it wasn’t based on bowel movements and nap time, but treated us as who we were: two people creating their own adventures, trying not to get too bored or on each others nerves. Maybe that’s why Paul McCartney wrote this song for Linda. This song was the background to watching tigers at the zoo and to playing with plastic tigers in the basement. It meant summer and intensely serious play time for us.
The last time I saw Ben was two years ago. He acted shy with me at first and I wondered if he remembered me as well as I remembered him. At first he acted like he had maybe had a dream about me once and the whole thing was deja vu all over again. Like he knew something special had happened between us, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to bridge that to the present. Eventually he warmed up and although we didn’t get to play our theme song, we did get to play. And I’m sure he won.
Two of Us (5MB MP3)
the Beatles (homepage)
Mountain Goats :: No Children
I spent the past three weeks losing the battle to tonsillitis, intestinal bugs, and strep throat. It was AWESOME (read: depressing, humbling, painful). Much of this sicko time was spent laying on my back in my apartment where I live alone in a country far away from family, contemplating the frailty of humans (me in particular), the smog of Bogotá, and the wack-job reasoning behind Colombian medicine. I couldn’t walk more than a block and wanted to puke most of the time. I couldn’t go up stairs without stopping every third stair to curse the mega germs that have leveled me off and on for the past six months.
Then, on a Tuesday night, I got flea bites all over my ass and my ankles in cute swirly patterns. I woke up from my fitful, barely breathable sleep for an attack of the itchies. I couldn’t swallow, walk, eat, or see people for fear of contamination, so by the time my skin was also attacking me, I decided to take the hint and started laughing at the all the cumulated self-pity I had going for me. I realized that I was so ridiculously pathetic that I ought to at least find a little humor in the fact that I wanted to cut off my feet and my bum. Silly fleas.
It’s like the time I was sick at work in Rogers Park. I was stressed out, feeling down, and had a fever so I decided to take the Clark bus home and sit at my house to fully feel sorry for myself. So I took my pouty self out to the snowy street where immediately a divinely-inspired bird shit on my shoulder. Like a huge wad of bird poo all over my winter jacket and all I could think was, “oh, you’re so right. I’m being ridiculous…and that’s hilarious.” Leave it the wondrous intelligence of this dunkin donut-fed, cow-shaped pigeon to put me in my place.
That’s what John Darnielle does in this song, in my opinion. Who knows, maybe he thinks differently and is still taking himself seriously, but seems to me he had divorce strep throat and the break-up pigeon shat on him. But seriously, how funny is it when you want to rip out your heart and throw it at the one who hurt you? How can you not laugh when everything sucks? Sometimes it’s glorious to feel so bad.
No Children (3.9MB MP3)
Mountain Goats (homepage)