Double Flee A

Here at my school we have karaoke on Thursdays, which is a hoot. There's a lot of freestyle rapping (or so they would claim) that gives the vendor a chance to lean back and do even less than he already does, and a fair amount of these boots made for walking and friends in low places. One guy did the Macy Gray song that got so much airtime a few years back (I have never been able to understand why), and that was pretty funny. All but for that guy, it's been a nuisance in a fairly general way. That guy and one other lady, who did the most depressing thing I've seen in a loooong time.

This woman gives the impression that even if she weren't wheelchair-bound, she'd still be mousy and poorly cared for. Her clothes appear never to change, her hair appears never to have been washed, and her glasses fail to hide eyes that would obviously rather be looking at a much different life. They seem to always be ready to cry. They implore, but for what it can not be determined.

She's clearly full time here, an observation derived from that she is on the elevator almost constantly, so when she got up to do karaoke, many were the glances that made it to the stage and stayed there, in that post-modern limbo of glances, where you just have to see what happens, even though you couldn't care less.

It can't be as bad as the guy who was just up there, people began to stop thinking, their many imaginations simultaneously darkening over the wet plastic trays. And then it started, without fanfare, just a woman on a stage, with far too much amplification.

For those of you who weren't in red america during the time it was popular, here are the lyrics to "poor, poor pitiful me" by country musician Terri Clark.

The song is about the woman's popularity with the menfolk, who "won't let [her] be", and this woman sang it so sadly, so low, so totally devoid of the lyricist and composer's intentions, that it actually stopped time. I say this because remembering it in all its wretchedness makes it seem as if it's still happening, so in a way, it is.

Well, I lay my head on the railroad track
Waitin’ on the double e
But the train don’t run through here no more
Poor, poor pitiful me!

Chorus

Poor, poor pitiful me!
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord have mercy on me!
Woe, woe is me!

Well, I met a man out in hollywood
And I ain’t namin’ names
But he really worked me over good
Just like jesse james

Yes, he really worked me over good
He was a credit to his gender
He put me through some changes
Lord, sorta like a waring blender

(repeat chorus)

Well, I met a boy in the vieux-carres
Down in yokahoma
He picked me up and he threw me down
Sayin’, please don’t hurt me, mama

(repeat chorus)

Poor, poor pitiful me!
Poor, poor pitiful me...

The student senate, the ones whose idea karaoke is, can't be aware that they are motivating me to get away from this place more urgently than they can possibly imagine.

posted by dale @ 12:56 PM