Usually it’s a silly refrain that’s unrelated from anything in my life du moment. Snappy things. Like the old Enjoli and Oscar Mayer bologna commercials. Or every single jingle Barry Manilow ever wrote.
Sometimes, though, I find there’s an emotional frisson, as if my heart created a playlist for my neurons to thrum. Like the time I was tossed aside by The Man Who Proved Not to Be The One–that Brit shitwit who cheated on his not-yet-ex-girlfriend with me and then on me with his not-yet-ex-girlfriend’s best friend. For months I couldn’t get We Do Not Belong Together from “Sunday in the Park with George” out of my mental music queue.
Lately there’s a new song–well, okay, an old song that I just downloaded–that’s taken up residence in the glittery jukebox in my head. Maybe it’s the warm weather, or the five pounds I lost, or the new meds, but it’s a sassy little flirtation that sums up my feelings at the moment: “Come On-A My House” by the incomparable Rosemary Clooney. The One thinks it’s a dirty ditty. He thinks Rosemary offering all those apricots, figs, cakes, and Easter eggs really represents unfettered access to her lady parts. I think he thinks too much about lady parts.
I have a hunch the reason why the song’s number one with a bullet on my personal music chart has something to do with all the entertaining we’ve been doing. For the past few weeks I’ve wanted–just like Rosemary–to jam as many family and friends into our house and stuff them full. With everything. Things I’ve cooked a hundred times (like tagliatelle with leeks and shrimp and lemon curd cake) as well as things I’ve yet to try (turducken and whole roast pig, anyone?). I want to hear great roils of laughter rising up and curling over themselves in the corners of the ceiling. I want to serve handsome platters of grilled meats, bowls of potato salad of every imaginable sort, and tray after tray of sweets. I want to pour wine from enormous carafes held high above my guests’ glasses while tossing my head back in gut-shaking guffaws at the latest lewd joke and never spill a drop. And more than anything I want everyone to bang on the tables and whistle until the room grows very quiet, which is The One’s cue to turn down the lights and shine my iPhone’s flashlight app on me as I sing a few ballads from the ’40s and ’50s, including our song, When I Fall in Love. (Now that I think of it, maybe what I really want is to be a contract player in an old MGM movie.)
Clearly, I’m not alone. Last weekend Kate Morgan Jackson of Framed Cooks invited The One, me, and several other guests over for a languorously long day of food, wine…and song. From her iPod–the one on her sideboard, not in her head–blared 103 songs, all gastronomically related. It started with Red Solo Cup and a chicken-green bean salad for lunch on the patio; transitioned to Hungry Like a Wolf and Cornbread, Molasses and Sassafras Tea for mid-afternoon fortifications in the kitchen; segued to Everyone Eats When They Come to My House underscoring lobster macaroni and cheese in the dining room; and ended up with The Candy Man and dessert in the family room. After more than six hours of music, what didn’t I hear? That’s right. My darling Rosemary’s call for guests. I sent Kate the song, this coquette that has been tickling my medulla oblongata for weeks, as an invitation to come on-a our house. I wonder what she’ll send as an RSVP?
[Editor’s Note: Okay. ‘fess up. What music do you use to feed your food mood? It can be a particular song or a general genre. We’re just curious.]
You have a nice playlist in there. When I Fall In Love is one of the best songs ever written, I think. This does cut both ways though and just because I’m feeling a little onery this morning, please repeat after me: “It’s a small world after all…It’s a small world after all…It’s a small world after all…It’s a small, small world.”
Try to get THAT little baby out of your mind.
Have a nice day.
Oh, I’m so sorry. And to make you even more ornery, I’ve linked your comment to the song so that you can NEVER knock it out of the groove in your head.
ARGHHHH!!!!
heh, heh, heh.
Try getting that little ditty out of your head after being stuck in the ride for an hour. The whole family had it stuck after that experience. Talk about ARGHHHH!
Only went once, twenty-five years ago. Still getting night sweats….
Try working at Disneyland an entire summer near the exit to that ride, and hearing it all day, every.single.darn.(Swearing and short skirts were strictly prohibited) day.
Now THAT cracked me up, Margie.
Oh, that glorious day of cooking….THAT’S what is currently stuck in my head. Although I did just add Jimmy Buffet’s “Boat Drinks” to my Dinner Party playlist…104!
For me, besides the music it was: 1.) your generosity, b.) Don’s attempt to make it look like he wasn’t paying TOO much attention to the baseball game, c.) Emma’s chatter about college, boys, and country music, d.) Dixie’s vacuuming ability, and e.) The One’s utter comfortability to fall asleep in minutes while reading on your patio.
I think between all of us we could have our own variety show. We’ll toss your kitts cata into the mix, and it will run for years. YEARS!
As long as the Cooking Channel picks it up, I’m happy.
Don’t I just hate it when a part of a song constantly replays in my head. Yesterday, I watched the BBC show of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee (and another subsequent show about her life). Pomp and Circumstance (with all the accustical nuances as it would have been if played in a cathedral) has since been stuck in my head, to the point that as I served the eclairs that I made yesterday for dessert last night, I presented them while humming the tune..out loud! Pomp and Eclairs? OMG…just shoot me now.
Susan, you’re so not alone. I was looping “God Save the Queen” for days when all this diamond jubilee shenanigans started.