Too many puppies are being trained not to bark
At the sight of blood that must be spilled so that
We may maintain our oil fields
Primus–”Too Many Puppies” on Frizzle Fry
Yesterday evening, I followed my sons to a church parking lot up the street where they practiced riding bikes. Evan sang his way around dozens of laps:
I’m riding my bike,
And I start by myself.
I’m so fast.
I’m so cool.
I’m gonna be like Lance Armstrong.
Yeah.
This behavior was in recognizable contrast to that of his brother who’d earlier whined that his “whole life was a disaster,” because I wouldn’t allow him to adopt a long-haired, striped cat that he could name “Tiger,” and I wouldn’t push him on the swing in our neighbors’ yard.
“Geez, Man. Get some perspective,” I told him, which didn’t help at all.
Evan’s first-grade teacher told me he sings while doing school work. “He pretty much sings all day,” she said.
“Well, as long as he doesn’t distract his friends in class,” I replied, hoping she’d agree, and, thankfully, she did.
Some talk about people or days having a soundtrack, but my days, and the people I know, are too messy and complex to be contained in a single song.
Three pop songs wouldn’t leave me yesterday:
- “Carrie Ann” by the Hollies,
Which sang itself between my ears when somebody walked into the lab at work, and our office manager, Linda, said, “Hey, Marianne.” - “Indoor Fireworks” by Elvis Costello,
Which I sang spontaneously while driving my boys to Zoo Camp, where they tell me they got to touch a snake and a centipede pooped on their counselor. - “Too Many Puppies” by Primus,
Which came to mind when a Guardian newsfeed reported more lives lost to violence in what used to be Mesopotamia and what many consider home to the first organized human civilization.
Most days are all songs and too little harmony when I try to take it all in at once.