Fearless Maria is back and she's ready for action!
That's true, Dad. But I'm not like Alicia Bridges, who wanted Act-shone! Because my act, which is trying to be the coolest 10-year old girl in the blogosphere has been well shown! And I dress a lot better. At least I'm not wearing your Aunt Mabel's black curtains turned into running shorts. Wait, do you even have an Aunt Mabel?
Last time I checked, I didn't. I'm not sure where I'd get one, Maria.
Ooh, what a shame. So what are we going to for Guilty Pleasures? I wanted to do something about Thanksgiving, but I don't think Cold Turkey is appropriate for our vonderfull audience.
I agree -- the screaming at the end is likely to scare the customers.
You didn't hear that, everybody! He was talking about what the turkeys do on their way to the grocery store. No offense, turkeys. Thanksgiving is a bad day for turkeys, assuming they even make it that far.
Well, there are other things we could do, Maria.
I've been doing something weird on Facebook this week, picking songs with Joneses in them.
Ooh, hint hint Facebook people! Which sadly, I am not one of yet. I'm sooo ready for social networking, Dad!
We'll take that conversation offline.
I know what that means! You won't talk to me about it at all! Avoiding the tiger!
Have you been eavesdropping in my office, Maria?
Well, you know at some point I wouldn't mind hearing what goes on in your office, rather than taking multiplication time tests.
I can see that. So let's run the musical numbers. First we'll go with this one. It's Boz Scaggs:
All right pardner, here is the Fearless Maria critiquing as I throw down on "Lowdown." Dad, doesn't that all white outfit remind of your Halloween outfit, where you dressed up in a hazmat suit, without all the magic marker we put on there? Gosh, I feel bad -- they brought in a full orchestra and they have to hide behind a curtain and a guy who looks like he fell into a bucket of white paint! Of course, I like the song, but my goodness, the outfits are a whole other story.
What's scary is this -- Maria. By the standards of the 1970s, what you saw was actually pretty stylish.
Wow -- that makes me wonder what's on the dark, shadowy horizon of 70s looks if that's supposed to be good. Dad, he was wearing Sansabelt slacks. I've been warned about those! In fact, all they need is one of those neon yellow caution signs for a construction site. Or maybe better, they could have the construction site use them to wipe off the white paint!
Well, let's try this one instead. This is Billy Paul, from late 1972:
Dad, did he borrow the orchestra from Boz Scaggs? That hat he's wearing looks like he made it from one of Mom's saucepans! Or maybe it's one of Mrs. Jones's saucepans and Mr. Jones hit him over the head with it because he found out what he was doing with Mrs. Jones! I think it's a pretty good song, but there sure seem to be a lot of questions going on here. Maybe they need to borrow 20 Questions from my teacher's game cabinet and stop meeting at the cafe. He has to be extra careful, you know.
Sounds like he could have saved himself some grief if he'd only talked to you first, Maria.
Well, that's my job here and he needs to accept the facts of the great big swirling sphere that we are standing on at the moment. Or at least move to Mars and face their facts. But I don't think they have any cafes on Mars, Dad.
Probably not. So anyway, here's another Jones thing from later in the 1970s. It's the Jam:
All right, Jam -- it may seem that I'm putting you in the toaster here, but that's impossible because you're not on bread yet. You're very, very, very British-sounding; not that there's a problem with that but your voices and your style are coated in United Kingdomness. Dad told me that the Jam never did much in the United States and I can understand why -- because once again they didn't have bread. They probably had scones!
So you're saying that the Jam is not your cup of tea, Maria?
No, it's not my cup of tea, or coffee, or any other java jive because it doesn't love me, Dad! So who steps up next, because not everyone is a winner, but everybody pays the same price of FREE!
That's true -- no admission is charged here. So we can move forward to 1993 and these guys:
Dad, are you sure that's 1993? He's got one of those fringe jackets like they wore in the 1970s and he's got fringe hair, too! I know they're dreadlocks, but they certainly aren't a dreadlock holiday. Well, the song was okay, but I don't think they shouldn't count their crows before they hatch! That singer does look a little full of himself and I'm sure he'd be better off counting crows than eating crow! And his words.
Well, a lot of singers are full of themselves, Maria.
I know that, Dad. Waah waah waaaahhhh! It's really a shame, because some of them are probably perfectly good people, but it messes with their minds. They become super-egos. They were mesmerized in the false-tivity of the situation!
I guess falsi-tivity isn't a word, Dad. It was only a dream that I would have been able to make my own word and contribute to etymology!
Etymology? How old are you?
Ten, Dad! What, a ten-year old can't use the word etymology? It was one of our spelling words a few weeks back, in the deep waters of my school.
Pretty deep, all right. Anyway, if you were wondering what the Counting Crows guy was talking about, he was talking about this song by Bob Dylan:
So, is the "Ballad of a Thin Man" what they play on the Wii Fit commercial? It was a pretty good song except I'm wondering, did they have to strangle some bluebirds to get that weird, high-pitched noise?
That's an organ, Maria.
Sounds like someone was getting bodily organs crushed, Dad! Really squeaky! Okay, I know it's like one of those organs that they have in bands or at church, but I don't think I've ever heard anyone at St. John's make it sound so squeaky and crushy!
It was the 1960s, Maria.
I know. And I'd have been worried for the sake of humanity and animal-anity back then. Good thing I wasn't born until 35 years later!
Well, the only way we can time travel is through these videos, Maria.
And you know what? YouTube isn't exactly as great as Albert Einstein, Dad! But speaking of time travel, it's time to vote! You can stay right here in our somewhat safe blogosphere generation, because it's my generation! And no, the people in the link aren't from my generation. Pick your favorite in the comment section, but don't smash any guitars!