Tuesday, May 29, 2007
In The Name Of Love
Once I started singing verses of various songs in an almost empty Indian restaurant. The chicken vindaloo had lost its luster, an I had to make my own fun! I started with Eartha Kitt's version of "Santa Baby" and ended up at Peggy Lee's "Fever." I can't blame it on drinking because I wasn't, and my companions begged me to stop, but I continued complete with creepy hand motions, like a Supreme gone wrong. A couple at the next booth were meeting with their wedding planner, going over the details for the big day. "I want flowers, not funeral flowers, but really beautiful ones. This only happens once. I don't get a second chance to make my big day special." Where do people learn this sense of entitlement and the vocabulary for it? Furthermore, who says you only get one big day? My mind cast back to a tank top I'd seen once that read, Stop Talking About Your Fucking Wedding, and I began laughing so hard that I spit the sip of water that I'd just taken all over the table. My sister calls this kind of merriment being "drunk in the spirit," when everything is funny for no reason. Our waiter looked over at the table, the soaking wet place mats and shook his head. I attempted to compose myself until one of my friends confessed that her boyfriend pets his dog while they have sex (quite a feat of dexterity!), and this sent me off into more laughter. I did not sing or drink water anymore out of fear of making a bigger ass of myself than I already had.
When a dear friend of mine visited Detroit, I took her to the Motown Museum. We went with two other people in one of my vain attempts to allow my friends and then-boyfriend to get to know one another in hopes that they would see in each other all the wonderful qualities I did. The group dynamic was similar to the old experiment with prisoners and guards -- my friends made passive-aggressive jabs at one another as we saw Michael Jackson's glove and The Commodores' singing costumes. When we got into the last part of the tour, our guide picked three of us out of the crowd to sing "Stop In The Name Of Love." I wanted to die when he looked at me and said, "You can be sexy Mary Wells." I tried to be a good sport and went along for the ride. When I did my stop hand motion, I directed it toward the people who, despite loving me, could not love one another. They could not, as St. Francis dictates, love each other constantly or even a little. They could barely eat dinner together! In a situation like this, the best thing you can do is sing, even if you don't do it well. At least you have a chance of making someone laugh even if it's only yourself.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"To suffering there is a limit; to fearing, none.” Francis Bacon
Drinking music suggestion: Shinebox The Gourds
Benedictions and Maledictions