Shoop. Ssshhhhoo boop. Shoo boop, de boop shoo boop. Hello. Didn't see you there. Do you want to sit on a pillow? I am singing my jam.
My jam is the one where they snap the fingers, and the man is singing "Shoo boop, de booop shoooooooooo, ahhhhhhh, wop wop wop." Do you know that one? The name of it eludes me. I can't manipulate the buttons to pull up the iTunes screen that would tell me, and I am fresh out of ideas about how to figure out the name of this haunting sound that I hear in my house speakers sometimes—the sound of the man, and the finger snappings, and then the singing of "Woooo ooo oooo shooo bop, de bop, wooooooo oooooo," in a banshee-like tone. In your world there is probably some simple solution to this problem. I live in a simpler world, which is more complicated only when I want an answer to a complicated question, like this. Weird right? I eat the parts of salad that fall off the table but I would never "order" a salad, given the opportunity.
I call this song my jam. Let me tell you what that means. First of all it means I like it. When I like the song, the song is my jam. Maybe some dancing will happen. That ain't hard! Secondly, it means that when I hear the dulcet tones of the man singing the song, then there's a pretty good chance that I will be singing the song also. The only difference is that the song goes "Shoo bop doo wop wooo, ooo, bop bop bop," and when I sing it it's more like "AH ROO ROOOOOOO. AH ROO ROOOOOO. AH ROO ROOOO." It's an enunciation issue. I think I still sound good though. Some people call it "howling" when I'm singing my jam. Excuse me? How disrespectful. I'm not howling, I'm singing my jam. Not everyone on earth was blessed with the vocal cords and physical lip and mouth structure necessary to make the sounds "Shoo bop de wop." I'm okay with it though. I feel the rhythm, and that is the important thing. We can't have it all. But you know what I do have? An old piece of rope with a knot in the middle.
Sometimes I think I appreciate music more than most. Everyone is always on the go, running around. You take your music with you. Distracted. Me, I go where the music is. I listen for it, I find it, and then I sit on the ground by wherever the thing making the sound is located. I don't move. I take it all in. I feel it. It rolls through me. If I sing, I sing, if I dance, I dance. No big deal. I do my thing. That's what art means, to me. A jam, ah roo roooo rooo, a good day to be alive. Nothing stops me.
Unless that fat duck walks by. Him, I gotta get.
[Image by Jim Cooke]