Why is it that I can’t remember pertinent information like that Duccio painted Entry into Jerusalem for my art history test, but HELL if I ever forget the mule named Sal and how she’s a dear old pal and another something about miles and the Erie Canal.

It’s strange how much of my mind is consumed by silly songs and such from childhood. Things you never cared if you remember, such as the three little kittens who lost their mittens or what goes into Mrs. Murphy’s chowder stick in your brain like skank on Paris Hilton. And things you never thought you’d forget, like how he smelled or your locker combination, slip through.

It could be my utter and probably debilitating lack of sleep doing the talking, but I have no idea where this post is going. A song from Cats comes to mind. Have I mentioned that every time I see a stage show of any kind I spend a couple of weeks mourning the fact that I gave up my stage career? (Which is a fancy way of saying I didn’t like the theatre teacher in my high school so I stopped taking it.) I miss performing, though. I get some kicks in choir, rather than on Route 66, which where I hope all of your brains went, but the kind of music I love to sing is not the kind that necessarily feeds my dramatic streak. Fun fact: I typed “dramatic steak” and laughed for a solid two minutes about feeding a dramatic steak.

You’d approach it slowly, offering your best dish on a china plate. The steak would take one look, scream in agony, and demand to know why you were torturing him with such grievous excuses for food.

I love you, Dramatic Steak. I’m tempted to riff on the dramatic chipmunk meme now. But I won’t. Dang it all, this post started so coherent and like I had thought things through and was going to wax philosophical about bygone days of childhood and the sticky, sweet memories of summertime and the cotton was high and your daddy’s rich and your mama’s good looking. And other Porgy & Bess classics.

I’d apologize, but you guys should be used to it by now and also I don’t have any puppy pictures on hand and I know you wouldn’t understand an apology without puppies. I’ve ruined you for all other apologies. Again, I’d say I’m sorry, but lather, rinse, repeat.

Did I mention I’m done with my two tests and am officially on Spring Break? Which, in this case, at least, is synonymous with a mental break. And I think that’s pretty obvious in this post. I’m not sure I finished a complete thought on a single topic. Especially because everything kept reminding me of Dramatic Steak and making me laugh.

Memories, all alone in the Summertime and the livin’ is easy,

3 thoughts on “Something About Miles and the Erie Canal

  1. Amber K.

    I still sing Mrs. Murphy’s chowder!!! People think I’m nuts when I do it. I didn’t think anyone else had ever heard of that song! (Okay, I’ll confess though that sometimes I fudge a few of the words I can’t remember, hehe)


  2. Marshy

    Way to smash Cats and Sublime together in a totally awesome salutation.
    I’m glad I stayed in theater, but sometimes I have no idea why I did. I got a lot of learning in, but mostly I think I stayed for the people. Not the director. What I should have done was taken lessons from Milton so I could draw all my ideas and not have them look like those of kindergartners with deficient motor skills. And be better with clay.
    All the same, Betty Botter bought a bit of butter, now the milkman’s on his way n’ it’s too late to say good night


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