Unless noted otherwise, all writing on ICBWB.com is by David Boyne. No one else is to blame. And while David Boyne does not own the words he has used (English being a truly open source code) the exact way he has arranged those words is protected by copyright laws. Thank you for playing. |
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Falling Apart Almost everyone I meet asks me, "So what do you do?" I usually say, "I'm a writer, and I pay for that self-indulgence by managing an ecommerce business." This is the truth, but not the whole truth. Were I to answer with complete honesty I would say, "What do I do? I spend most of my time falling apart and putting myself back together." For as long as I can remember, I have been unable to travel more than five hours down the road of life without having to pull over and set off red flares and dive under my hood to perform emergency repairs on my psyche. How do I return to getting my kicks on Route 66? I sing songs. But not Gregorian chants or endless rounds of Michael Row the Boat Ashore. I sing silly, ridiculous, nonsensical songs. I sing Wagnerian opera in the persona of Bugs Bunny or Elmer Fudd. Kill the wabbit! Kill the wabbit! Recently I wondered: Would I have made it this far in life without silly songs? In the 1980s, miserable in my yuppie job of selling printing to Manhattan corporations, I spent many hours riding up and down in crowded elevators mumbling the words to George of the Jungle. I would walk through the hot and humid city, from rejection to rejection, wistfully singing If I Only Had A Brain. I think I spent most of the 1990s walking my dog in the rain in Portland, Oregon. As the rain pelted my face and I slogged through four-inch deep puddles I would drone an obscure song that went: Of course, you have to find or create your own silly songs. And you have to sing them over and over and over. Like a private mantra. Like a secret self-affirmation. We are what we sing. Back then, I was Particle Man. Advertising jingles can work, too, especially the mysterious messages impressed on our soft brains during childhood. Recently, I happily made it through an entire day singing:
Yet, some mornings, when the shock and awe of waking up and getting out of bed is overwhelming, I am forced to break out the top-secret laser-guided smart bomb I discovered at age 7: the theme song of The Patty Duke Show. Inwardly singing the theme song of The Patty Duke Show has gotten me through job interviews, first dates, and public speaking engagements. What is more, I've discovered a way to make the theme song of The Patty Duke Show take on an astonishing, synergistic, galactic, harmonic-convergence kind of power. Honest. If you don't believe me, this is one experiment you can try at home. First, warm up by singing the theme song of The Patty Duke Show. (*Lyrics below) Then, sing it again, but this time sing really loud. Without stopping, sing it a third time, but now as you belt it out, throw a wild fit of head-shaking and arm-flailing and spastic kicking, just like an out of control teenaged girl when denied television, cell phone, and internet privileges. Feels good, yes? Finally, if you seriously want to lower your blood pressure and clear your arteries and obliterate all the dark matter in your universe—go out and do it at the movie theatre, the football game, your company cafeteria, and while stuck in rush-hour traffic at 8 in the morning. The Patty Duke Show theme song Video of the theme song to The Patty Duke Show Meet Cathy, who's lived most everywhere, But they're cousins, Where Cathy adores a minuet, Still, they're cousins, You can lose your mind,
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