Karl (louderback) wrote,

  • Mood:

Bumpity Bump!


There's not a pillow anywhere than can go three rounds with me!

I spent the night last night fighting with my pillows. The hard pillows I pummeled into softness. The soft pillows I folded into rocks. The remaining pillows were plumped to the point of surrender. None might withstand my mighty fluffing.

Unfortunately, subduing my recalcitrant pillows ruined my sleep and left me exhausted. I dreamed all night and remember none of them.

This morning I discovered an old version of Cuban Pete performed by Tito Puente. This is not the finest performance I've heard, but it is a signature for him— in a way at least. It is odd how certain songs own to certain performers. Maria Callas owns Ave Maria, Bing Crosby sings Adeste Fidelis as no other. God Bless America has long belonged to Kate Smith as There's No Business Like Show Business to Ethel Merman. Nobody else can claim Somewhere Over The Rainbow but Judy Garland. Though every third performer in the world has performed the song, does anyone besides Bobby Darin dare claim Mac the Knife? I can think of a hundred other examples, done by a dozen performers but belonging to a single person, Tom Traubert's Blues to Tom Waits, A Kiss To Build A Dream On and Let's Fall In Love to Louis Armstrong.

What is the chemistry that allows a single performer to lay claim to a song?

A friend on Badvogato has committed a hideous blasphemy — mentioning Peter Sellers in the same sentence with an actor I hold in considerable disesteem. I sense that I will have to challenge him to a duel to defend Mr. Sellers' honor.

I have an appointment with Dr. Rocks tomorrow, late in the day. I expect him to discharge me to the care of Dr. Canasta who will see me on Tuesday. He will likely dismiss my case to Dr. Jujube. I will see him during the week as well.

I must speak to Dr. Rocks about a new addition to my skull. I am most incredibly nervous about a discovery of this weekend. My mother's computer died Friday. I climbed under the desk to check the connections as best I was able and bumped my forehead on arising. Later that evening I noticed a bump on my right forehead near — but not precisely on — the spot where I bumped my head. I though I had bruised myself. There was no discoloration, however. Today, the bump is still there. I think it is another "grape."

Life just generally sucks today.

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