Month: June 2006

This site is kinda fun. Overlooking — as you MUST — that it’s hosted by some fellow calling himself “Ostin Allegro,” the site tells you which pop/rock songs through the ages (well, since 1955) were derived from which classical pieces. Also, it gives you mp3 snippets of each original and each derivative for your listening pleasure. Oh, and a little column of “editorial comments” on each pair. Some pairings I knew, some — sad to say — I didn’t.

For instance, I stumbled across:

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah (1963) which I actually DID know came from Ponchielli’s Dance of the Hours. But, um, seriously, what was the dealio with that song?

Hello, Muddah
Hello, Faddah
Here I am at
Camp Granada
blahda blahda
blahda blahda
blahda blahda blahda blahda blahda blahda

I guess it was meant to be a funny song, but was it really screamingly funny when it came out in 1963? Or was it more of an “I’m so embarrassed for this twit” funny? Was it a big hit? Was it just a novelty song? Was the singer just the Weird Al Yankovic of his era? I’m just wonderin, ‘s’all.

Then there’s this one I didn’t know:

Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love came from Plaisir d’Amour by some chap named Martini il Tedesco. I admit, I’ve never hoid a’him. But if you didn’t know that one either, give it a listen. It’s beautiful.

Of, course there’s some we probably all know, like this one:

Barry Manilow’s Could it be Magic coming from Chopin’s Prelude in C Minor. Oh, man! I’ve always loved Barry Manilow and I will make no excuses for this love. I love the sappiness. I remember how it was so utterly HUGE and fulfulling at a time when I was probably too young to really get it. Still, those songs …. I just felt like my heart was swelling too big for my body. So do not attempt to disparage him to me! He writes the songs the whole world sings and you damn well know it.

So, come on, let’s ALL sing this one together:

Spirit move me, every time I’m near you
Whirling like a cyclone in my mind
Sweet Melissa, angel of my lifetime
Answer to all answers I can find

(C’MON, SING, PEOPLE):

Baby I love you, come, come, come into my arms
Let me know the wonder of all of you
And baby I want you now, now, now and hold on fast
Could this be the magic at last?

Ahhhhhhh.

Now go check out that site. Which ones did you know? Which ones didn’t you know?

Sweet Lord. Did I just catch a glance of Kathy Najimy on some weird amalgam of history’s cheesiest game shows? Some Game Show Marathon or something? What WAS that??

If you don’t know who Kathy Najimy is, this is Kathy Najimy:

“Sister Acts I and II,” “The Wedding Planner,” the voice of Peggy Hill on “King of the Hill,” “various gay and lesbian events,” etc.

Oh, and let’s not forget “Godspell” with yours truly.

Yep. It’s true. Years ago, I was a brazen little minx and auditioned for a local production of “Godspell” during the summer before my freshman year at high school. I was 13. And I got in. And so did Kathy Najimy, an actress, may I say, several years older and several pounds bigger than I.

(That’s really not nice, Tracey. You should delete that. But it’s true. Still, someone will point out that you’re mean or a bad Christian or history’s worst monster or something. But it’s true, the age and the pounds thing, that is. Still, remember that commenter who scolded you to be “more sensitive and fair” about that Katharine McPhee? Yeah?? Well, you’re being a tad insensitive here. And don’t forget the evil poppet. Oh ?#@!!%?! Bugger off, Jiminy!!)

Um, huh??

Anyway …..

Oh, man, I’m just remembering that whole thing! SO weird. I’ll definitely write more on that another time when I have the time to do it some justice.

But can I just say now that after seeing her for 10 seconds on this thing, this “Voyage of the Damned Celebrities,” or whatever it is, I realize just how far she’s fallen since “Godspell”? Clearly, it was the pinnacle of her career.

Oh, Kathy. KATHY!! NO!! Stop this right now! Didn’t “Godspell” teach you anything about redemption? Come back! Jesus says come back! You are on a show with that bug-eyed Lance Bass, for freak’s sake! And Ricki Lake is the host! Can a sobbing David Hasselhoff be far behind?

I dunno, actually. It may be too late for you now. And, you know what? THIS time, YOU get to be the one to fall backwards off the car and hope someone catches YOU. I’m not gonna do it.

“Oh, DEAR LORD, three things I PRAY!!”

Just in case anyone’s been losing sleep wondering, “Hey, what happened with Tracey’s drama class?”

Ready. Set. RANT:

So you remember when I had that upcoming gig teaching home school drama classes for flaky NFL wife, right?

Yeah, well, I was spot-on about that whole “flaky” thing. The week we were supposed to start, she cancelled. Next week, next week for sure, she said on our machine. I called back, left a message. I need directions to your house. I heard nothing. “Next week” arrived. It was the day before. I called again, left a message. I need to hear from you by 7 p.m. tonight or I will assume class is cancelled.

When I came home later that evening, there was a message on my machine from NFL PLAYER HIMSELF. Tracey, this is Player You Really Admire. Uh, Flaky is out of town until tomorrow night. (Class is supposed to be the next afternoon at their house and she is out of town??) Um, I don’t know the status on the class. I can see how you need to talk to someone. Um …. (He chuckled. HE CHUCKLED ON MY ANSWERING MACHINE, PEOPLE!) He gave her cell phone number, but the machine cut off before I got it all.

NFL Player was having to call for her because she was so disorganized.

But he’s married to her.

Why — I began to ask myself — should I have to keep chasing this woman down??

The next day arrived. I still hadn’t heard from her, so I made other plans for the day. Because, frankly, she’d strung me along since September. She’d regularly chosen noncommunication as her preferred method of communication. She’d called at the very last minute giving information I’d never heard before as if I’d heard it before. She was basically just a sweet-voiced little pain in the ass. Did I want to teach these classes? Yes. But did I want to be her personal Little Miss Snap-To? Uh, no. And I was really starting to feel like that. The phone rang 20 minutes before class was to start. She had directions on how to get to her house, a 40-minute drive away. I swallowed hard and just said it: It’s not going to work for me today. I didn’t hear from you, so I made other plans. I’m very sorry.

I actually didn’t think I’d hear from her again. I mean, we’re coming down to the end of the school year, here. What had been envisioned as a 10-week drama course was now, what, 3 weeks?? Why bother? I’d invested both time and money and gotten bupkis. But she did call, the day before the “next” session — remember, this class had not yet met AT ALL! — to leave me a message that there was a “change of venue” and we’d be meeting at someone else’s home. I had no idea if we’d be meeting in someone’s living room or bathroom or laundry room. This matters to me, a lot actually, because to teach a decent drama class YOU NEED SOME FREAKIN’ SPACE! I had no idea what kind of “space” I had now. And she’d left no phone number or directions to this “change of venue.” She just said, Oh, it’s the Smith’s house. They’re on such-and-such street. I think that’s near you. WHAT?? It’s not ANYWHERE near me. I live 40 minutes away from that. I don’t know that street. What was I supposed to do? MapQuest that street, cruise on over, and just start yelling, “SMITHS! SMITHS! WHERE ARE YOU? AM I NEAR YOUR HOUSE YET? AM I GETTING CLOSE? IT’S ME — THE WUSSY DRAMA TEACHER WHO LETS COOKIES LIKE YOU WALK ALL OVER HER! BUT I’M HEEEERE! WHERE ARE YOOU??”

I’m sorry. That was it for me. It was all too retarded. I decided that as much as I might want to teach this class, I didn’t want to be treated with such perky-voiced presumption and carelessness anymore. It was becoming too stressful, too ridiculous. And with each passing week that the class didn’t meet, I was making less and less money anyway.

So I called and said “no thanks” to the WHOLE thing. Maybe it was a cop-out. I don’t know. But I actually felt a huge relief when I finally just MADE that decision for myself instead of feeling desperate, as if I HAD to have it and had to tolerate her chirpy neglect.

Sorry, NFL Player. No, really, sorry. Sorry your wife is such a flake. And sorry, little rich kids. I don’t know what you’re gonna do now. Maybe Paloma has some spoons you can play with.

Ach. They were all middle schoolers anyway. Despicable age.

All right. Rant over.

(And now to cleanse your palates …. look at the pictures below!)