I put this entry up on my old blog last summer, probably about a year ago, during one of those extra hot days. I find hot weather much more pleasant this year, and that’s one mental shift I don’t quite get. Years past I’ve bellyached incessantly about how hot it is, and how uncomfortable the heat makes me feel, and this year not only am I unable to muster any energy in the same direction, but I’m actually grateful for the warmth.
Something else I don’t get is why in the sphincter of hell I’m admitting I spent any time whatsoever thinking of the “songs” I’m posting below. Now they seem to trip and fall face first on the ridiculous. I’m not sorry I worked on the collage, though. It’s one of my favorites among my own, despite the seven levels of torture that was to work on that water.
About four or five years ago I grabbed a notebook and wrote made-up lyrics from West Side Story songs. I told myself a little story about my left shoe or foot being the West Side, and my right one the East Side.
The foundation of this idea was that for a small man, say a man only two inches in height, a foot of such gigantic size (two in my case) would be a multifaceted playground; each of geography so varied to his size, of proportions so monumental that they would begin to take life of their own, obviously on a primitive level, the one that spoke to early men and told them the sky was full of gods (“My stars, it’s full of gods!“), and the ocean full of monsters.
In addition to that, I had also just watched West Side Story again, and the songs were floating in my head nearly every day.
Anyway, each toe was a gang member I think, and the East Side gang called themselves The Lints. Somehow, in the middle of all this, my Little One and I developed a sort of bullying, bizarre love story where I was both the main interest, and the opponent. It’s best not to try to make much sense of it, but it was, as all of this, very entertaining for my mind.
I can’t find all the lyrics I invented, especially my favorite, One Hand, One Heart, but here are some I did find.
From the Jet Song:
Here comes [my name]:
Little world, step aside!
Better go underground
Better run, better hide!
I Feel Pretty:
“See that little man in that sandal there? (What sandal? where?)
Who can that wee tiny man be? (who? what? when? where?)
Such a little head, such a little smile, such a little face…”
The doc* is gonna have her way tonight
The doc is gonna have her way tonight
I’ll shrink him to 2 inches, unfair height!
but if he starts a rumble, I’ll stomp him right
And what I’m singing tonight, because of this hot weather, even though the lyrics don’t have a thing to do with that kind of temperature:
Boy, boy, tiny boy,
Get cool, boy!
Wriggly small pet in my pocket,
Keep coolly cool, boy!
Don’t get hot,
‘Cause man, you’ve got
To keep a cool head
When I grow don’t let fear show,
When I lift you up and go to bed!
Boy, boy, little boy!
Stay loose, boy!
Breeze it, buzz it, easy does it.
Turn on the juice, boy!
Go man, go,
But not on my toe, no, schoolboy.
Just play it cool, boy,
Leonard Bernstein – West Side Story, The Dance at the Gym
*As in the female doc that invents a shrinking formula. Namely me.