Lofbomm.com

(This post was originally posted to Adam’s MySpace page, but he thought it should live here too.)

“What you gonna do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?”

Eyes crusty with sleep, with these words and the innane yet infectious beats that bounce beneath them, I am ripped from the warm, cocoon comfortability of sleep and thrust into the stark 7 AM reality of yet another day.

“I’m a get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump. “

See, Jess and I have developed this innane and yet incredibly effective method of combatting the strong trait of chronic oversleeping we share- we tune our clock radio to the most obnoxious top 40 pop radio station we can find and we turn it up as high as it will go. Thus far, we’ve found it around 93 percent effective in our battery of rigorous clinical trials.

“My lovely little lumps,”

I thought myself pretty clever when we bought an alarm clock with a CD shortly after we were married. The idea was, “We’ll wake up to music we love- we’ll just pop right up in a great mood. It’ll work like magic!”

“Check it outs…
I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these iceies.”

And it did. I worked just like a sleeping potion is what it did. Music we like sometimes kept us lying there listening, and surrounded by such nice sounds we found even more of reasons not to brave the flight of stairs to the bathroom with its cold, tile floor. Toward the end of this little experiment, we also found music we like had a crafty way of working its way into our dreams instead of working us out of them.

“My love, my love, my love, my love
You love my lady lumps,
My hump, my hump, my hump,
My humps they got you,
She’s got me spending.”

We also tried country, which worked fine for a while. The misogynous humor and good ol’ boy right wing talk from DJs had the occasional benefit of getting us riled up enough to pry us from the sheets at times, but soon found the music on the whole too soothing, and the prevalence of narrative engaged our minds just enough to keep us in bed for that tenuous and crucial moment it takes for the mind to plummet back into the deep depths of slumber.

“Oooo) Spendin’ all your money on me and spendin’ time on me.
She’s got me spendin’.
(Oooo) Spendin’ all your money on me,(uh) on me, on me”

Seeing as Nashville radio offers really only five options: NPR, college radio, oldies, country and pop, and, considering that we actually enjoy the first three flavors, we were left with only one alternative- the vacuuous, predictable and lowest-common-denominator sounds of Top 40 radio.

“What u gon’ do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I’m a make, make, make, make you scream
Make u scream, make you scream.”

And on that first morning, waking up to the whiney, over-digitized voice of Brittney belting out “Toxic,” I bolted upright and felt like Archimedes in his bathtub. “Eureka!” We had found the holy grail of morning reverie.

“Cause of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps, check it out!”

Little did we know what a powerful force we were messing with. The lyrics were predictable and the music uninventive for the most part, sure, but these tracks are not haphazard. They are calculated, masterfully manufactured tools of consumer manipulation backed by enormous research and funding and masterminded by devious producers bent on widespread mind control. We learned that these seemingly dopey ditties are highly infectious mind germs that subtly invade deeply into the mind and are next to impossible to extract. The more idiotic and ridiculous the refrain, the greater their power to compel us to hum them throughout our day.

“I met a girl down at the disco.
She said hey, hey, hey yea let’s go
I could be your baby, you can be my honey
Lets spend time not money.
and mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,”

Which brings us to the impetus for my writing this post- a warning and at the same time, a strange sort of homage to the reigning champion of pop aural viruses, the nefarious and masterful tune known simply as, “My Humps”.

“Milky, milky cocoa,
Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight”

The first time I heard it, I was right in that narrow envelope between sleep and waking when one becomes somewhat aware of external stimulus once again, but has not yet admitted it the actuality of it enough to open the eyes. The bouncing, high-pitched words filtered into my awareness and I immediately determined this must be some sort of satirical skit the radio station had put together, and I kept waiting for the punch line…but none came. The song finished, and I was left, wide awake, in a state of disgust and astonishment. I made my way out of the bed and into the shower when it happened. I found myself, unaware until it was happening, repeating the words,

“My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump.
My lovely lady lumps
In the back and in the front”

No!!! This is horrible, this must stop. Now. I would settle my mind, clear it of all mention of humps, think of something else and then when my mind would wander for just a moment or two, it would reappear and I would find myself humming this inane melody, “M-hm, m-hm, m-hm…m-hm-m-hmm-hm.” All through the day. Writing emails. Filing papers. Driving. Eating dinner. Sliding back into bed. It was awful.

“They say I’m really sexy,
The boys they wanna sex me.
They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin’ a feel my hump, hump.
Lookin’ at my lump, lump.”

And just about every morning, at some point in the 7-7:30 AM rotation, we would hear the telltale Casio beats and “My Humps” would invade. And there was nothing we could do about it. We were powerless- it was either endure its tyranny over our mind space or else lose our jobs. So, “My Humps” has gotten the upper hand and infected us time and time again.

“U can look but you can’t touch it,
If u touch it I’m a start some drama,
You don’t want no drama,
No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama”

This morning was no different, and so I feel compelled to warn all of you who read this to beware in hopes that through this cathartic telling of my tale I can somehow diminish its power and perhaps save you as well. It is dangerous and should be extracted from the airwaves. All that being said, I am nonetheless fascinated by the power of this song and the evil genius it took to craft it. If you too have experienced this torment, I hope that reading this will give you some modicum of hope in the assurance that you are not alone.

“What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off this hump.”

Currently listening :
My Humps
By Black Eyed Peas
Release date: By 22 November, 2005

(This post was originally posted to Adam’s MySpace page, but he thought it should live here too.)

The day outside is greyish and chilled. Here inside Caffiene, it is warm but not stuffy and Jessica is nearly finished knitting me a lovely scarf made of thick, warm, earth-toned wool. This is the sort of day that demands little else but to be here with it, like a true friend.

Being here. Being with it. Those words keep popping up lately like a spontaneous mantra- a reminder to reside in what is. To rest in Reality and not try to escape it, even by retreating into some apparently noble or good corner, that is the constant challenge. By mentalizing and conceptualizing life and self and God, I have often missed them when I could have intersected and engaged them.

Funny- after writing those words i drifted into the past and out of my body- so, even awareness of that error which points toward another way can itself be a trap, can pull me away from being here where I am, where God is, where life is happening, where Jessica is knitting and I am just writing.
I hope that as you read this you are filling with joy even now, aware that you represent the face of Love itself.

Currently reading :
The Fullness of God : Frithjof Schuon on Christianity (Writings of Frithjof Schuon)
By Frithjof Schuon
Release date: By 25 August, 2003

Adam and I are going through old blogs, and we found this that I wrote last February but never published. It’s a little moment in time at Caffeine coffee shop in Nashville. Enjoy…

-Jessica

It has been a while, and I don’t know where to start. I also don’t know where to go after I start. I’ll set the scene. Adam and I are at our favorite, old haunt, Caffeine. We cancelled our expensive internet at home at the New Year, so our email and blog time is very much trimmed down and more focussed to minutes at work and time at coffee shops. It’s a good break. Adam is talking to the woman at the table beside us. She is here every time we are here. I think she comes in every day and stays all day. What else? I feel rested. A dad just walked in with his daughter. He ordered a shot of espresso, and she ordered a bag of chips and a toasted plain bagel with butter. They only have two bagels left: cranberry and cinnamon raisin. She shook her head “no” with optimal hair flying. He is tall and confident, and she comes up to his elbow. He is unphased by her picky taste, and she doesn’t fuss. She takes just the chips. They seem to know each other well, and she calls him Daddy. They engage in conversation like friends, even though she is small and he seems to be someone confident and sucessful in the music business. They are quiet now as she chomps one chip at a time, and he reads “Macworld” magazine. I hear parts of Adam’s conversation about the world being complicated, things being illusory and interconnected. She does most of the talking, and he agrees and affirms. The guy in the yellow shirt who works here picks up plates and cups from a table and takes them to the counter. He’s picking up newspapers from another and paper up off the floor. He tosses them in the trash and drags the can out to the back hallway. He has emerged from the kitchen and gone back. Adam says, “It seems you’re concerned mostly with balance, with Balance.” I toss my hair since there is a strand tickling my lip, forgetting that my back is to a wall. Now the back of my head has a dull throbbing, and my eye is twitching. The eye is unrelated, but that’s what’s happening. There is a guy at the bar stretching. He works here too, but he’s here to hang out today. yesterday he was playing poker on his computer. His player was a cat playing against dogs. I wonder if he’s playing poker again. He has been sitting with his laptop at the bar for quite a while now. I don’t know how long. An hour or three? There is another guy right beside him, but I don’t think they know each other. Everyone is quiet except Adam and his new friend. “Right…mm hmm…uh huh…yeah.” I learned how to knit on Christmas Eve. My Grandma Rau gave me a starter kit and instructional books. She gave me more hands on pointers the next day. I have only knitted scarves so far. The daddy just went to the rest room and told his little girl to stay right where she is. She is swiveling in her tall chair. I didn’t realize the tall chairs swivel. Now a spin! Scratching her nose. I’m in a regular chair. I don’t swivel or spin, but I can scratch my nose. The guy in the yellow shirt has emerged again from the back, this time with a coat. He just shed his coat. I finished a scarf for Adam today while we sat here watching an episode of “My So Called Life” on the TV in the corner. There is nothing on TV right now, and there is no music playing. A guy I know from college just walked in from the back. I think his name is Kyle. He’s with another guy I don’t know. He ran cross country with Nathan and Justin. I think he would recognize me. He has really blue eyes, as I recall. Two women have taken the table beside ours. They are talking about an interview on NPR. Shanna just walked in. She’s an old friend of Adam’s. I met her the same night I met Adam. I like her. We pulled up another table to ours, and she’s joining us. Kyle just recognized me and said hi. “Just hangin’ out?” “Yep, just hangin’ out.” A real spiritual connection. Adam and Shanna went up to the counter to get some tea. I really don’t know if I’ll post this or not. I just thought I’d write something because Adam told me that he misses reading my blogs. I think I’m a good writer. I feel Kyle glancing at me over his friend’s head. He’s trying to remember my name. No big deal. Adam is pulling back from the counter, sticking his butt out to strech his back. He has a bad back. He’s really attractive. He has his new scarf around his neck and tossed around his right shoulder. He’s smiling and approaching with my tea. He now looks a little confused and sips at both cups in his hand, figuring out which is mine, and which is his. He hands me my tea. Shanna starts up her computer, and he’s helping her change preferences. Adam is picking at the hummus plate and scooped up some with a cucumber slice and now some flat-bread.