I like cover songs because I often feel as though most of what we do is like enacting a cover song. You think you’re raising your child the way you want? You’re just doing a version of a song that your parents taught you. You think you’re handling your various challenges on your own terms, using your best instincts and judgment? You’re just rearranging an old tune. Even you decide to go in the direction of zydeco and eschew death metal, everything you’re doing is still completely recognizable--all you can do is switch up the rhythm, the pacing, and the syncopation.
Here’s a song that’s generally considered to be ‘80s camp, but this fantastic cover teases out its power and makes you hear it for the first time. I won’t even tell you the title just in case you’re old enough to be familiar with the song; it’ll be more interesting when it creeps up on you and you suddenly recognize it. Good work, Harvey Girls.
The Harvey Girls mp3
Posted by Greg at 06:33 PM on 11/30/08
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The call came last week on Sunday morning. My sister-in-law had gone into labor, and my brother asked me to babysit my 4 1/2 year old niece, Cameron, while newcomer Emerson was ushered into the world.
The challenges began almost immediately. As I took Cam to the park in order to spend a few hours while her mother gave birth, she immediately asked me why she couldn’t stay and watch the c-section. And then she kept asking me about it.
What had her father told her? I didn’t know, so I just decided to give her a different answer every time.
“Why can’t I watch the c-section?”
“Because it’s boring.”
“Why can’t I watch the c-section?”
“Because it already happened.”
“Why can’t I watch the c-section?”
“Because your father only wants you exposed to As and Bs, in anticipation of your pending academic career.”
After the park and lunch, we went back to the hospital, waited a bit more, and eventually Cameron met Emerson:
My guess is that she is going to be a fantastic big sister.
This was the sweet and sentimental part of the day. Cold reality set in when I prepared to take Cam back to my brother’s house for a few days, as Geoff was planning to stay at the hospital with Emerson while his wife recovered. Geoff wrote out an schedule for me to follow. It was literally broken out into thirty and fifteen minute increments, such as:
7:00-7:30 Bath time. Use shampoo and conditioner then blow dry her hair.
7:15-30 Brush and floss her teeth.
7:30-45 Sing and read to her. Only three books.
I said, “You realize that if I can’t follow this, I’m just going to hunt wild game for dinner and then we’ll sleep on your roof.”
He said, “Just keep her entertained.”
Mostly it went okay, although there were many unforeseen problems. For example, she had issues with my lullabies. Something as simple as “Are You Sleeping” met with protest because I would know it just a bit differently than Geoff did. ("It’s din din DONG not DING DING dong,” she protested. I said, “Look, I’ve heard your father sing before. Your problem isn’t that the words are wrong--it’s just that this is is the first time you’ve ever heard these songs sung in the correct key.")
And then there were the problems of her having trouble sleeping, not wanting to eat, and of course bouts of child rebellion:
“Cam, put your pants back on. It’s time to go to school.”
“NO. HAHAHAHAHA!”
“Do you want to go to school without pants?”
“I’M STAYING AT HOME AND NOT WEARING PANTS!”
And then that evening, she snuggled up into my arm and said “I’m really glad you’re here, Uncle Greg.” And I felt bliss wash over me and I hugged her. But then later:
“HAHAHA! NO PANTS!”
I really hope she gets out of that phase by the time she turns sixteen.
It was an exhausting couple of days, but there was much that was learned. For example, she learned that I take big bites when I eat ("That is half your head!") and I learned...well, I learned a lot of things.
Babysitting is easier when you put an “Uncle tax” on your brother’s instructions. For example, if he says read Cam three books, actually read four. You are the Uncle, and you are not bound by rules any more than Chuck Norris is.
If you’re unable to precisely emulate your brother’s style, make up your own. For example, if Cam doesn’t like the words you sing for “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” make up new ones--e.g. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Cam/You really like peanut butter and jam.” This will be a big hit.
The Sprout channel on TV is scary. That teenage girl who hosts it has this constant, frozen smile on her face like she’s been given a huge shot of botox.
When driving children to school, keep kleenex in the car at all times. If one sneezes and you turn around and she’s grinning at you through a glistening starfish of snot, you will be forced to empty your gym bag while crossing the Golden Gate Bridge in order to find a towel that she can use, which is all more of a Steve Guttenberg moment than anyone really needs.
Trust your instincts, mean well, and don’t go stingy on the ice cream--and children will give you all the slack in the world.
As for Em, whom I only met briefly--sorry I had to greet and run, but don’t worry. I made a promise to Cam a while back and you get the same one.
In fact, it might even be more pronounced. That was five years ago, and you have to account for inflation.
Posted by Greg at 04:46 PM on 11/23/08
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My cousin Anne is visiting this weekend. At one point, she asked about the longevity of this blog, and I admitted to her that my posting schedule has continued to dwindle as I’ve both lost interest and been sucked further into work and my personal life. However, I also told her that I intended to keep the site open indefinitely, even if there’s not a single person reading, just to have an electronic “post-it” note upon which to scrawl whatever thoughts I feel like putting somewhere.
For example, Anne is currently sleeping on my couch while I sit across from her and catch up on work and email. It is no surprise that she’s taking a snooze at 1:10 pm; yesterday we did a walking tour of San Francisco that started on Market Street and ended at the very end of the Wharf, and punctuated with a ride in a cable car that was so overcrowded that we dangled off the sides while we went speeding down hills. “PLEASE PULL INTO THE CAR” the conductor shouted whenever another cable car came at us from the opposite direction, and we pressed up against a sitting British couple and tried to avoid being grazed, nicked, or squashed by the oncoming traffic. All of this was topped off by watching The Faint at the Warfield (as well as their very perky opening act, Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head).
Anyway, the point is, Anne is now taking a nap over a copy of Junot Diaz’s The Brief, Wonderful Life of Oscar Wao that I let her borrow, and I notice a few things:
She has not let the book drop from her fingers, but has the book open to her place so she can easily wake up and start reading whenever she feels like it.
Her expression is unusually thoughtful for a sleeping person, indicating that she is mulling over the book’s themes and motifs subconsciously.
When given the right conditions, Anne can take a nap even if she had two cups of coffee and a coffee-flavored milkshake earlier in the day.
See? These thoughts are meaningful, rich in intellectual substance, and worthy of being committed to posterity. Long live my dead blog.
Posted by Greg at 02:15 PM on 11/09/08
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