Backstory: the radio stations in the Raleigh area? Are pretty sucky. You basically have a choice of the pop station (which is ok, sometimes; I have no shame about the fact that I sing along with Britney Spears) or the rock station. And the rock station is more “classic rock” in that it plays a lot of stuff from 15-20 years ago.
For example, when we’d been living here for only a couple of months, my friend Kris came to visit and we had lunch together. I was still going through a bit of culture shock after moving here from Seattle, and we talked about how different North Carolina was by comparison. I told her how the radio here was so random, and that I’d heard “Love Bites” by Def Leppard more in the past 2 months than in the previous 15 years combined. After lunch, we got in my car to leave the restaurant, turned on the radio, and – no exaggeration – “Love Bites” came on before we’d even pulled out of the parking lot.
I know you wanted that earworm. You’re welcome. Also, how much hair spray and back-combing do you think was involved in the production of that video?
Sometimes I remember to bring my iPod and my little FM adapter thingy in the car, so I can listen to my own music, but the majority of the time, I forget it at home. And you know, it’s fine. Most of my drives are within a 5-mile radius of my house, so it’s not exactly worth shelling out for satellite radio. We have too many other things that require a monthly fee, I don’t need one more.
So, the point of all that? Is to explain this story about what a horrible parent I am and how I’m going to be responsible for my kid’s ensuing nightmares.
Honestly, I don’t know why it still surprises me when Catie suddenly catches on to something. I mean, she caught the lyrics to Lady Gaga. The kid notices everything.
So, we were in the car, and we happened to have the rock station on the radio. “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns ‘n Roses came on – which, really, is another good example of the kind of thing you hear on the rock radio station here. I left it on because Catie likes “Paradise City” (another song we’ve heard several times on that station) and you know, the lyrics are kind of screechy and hard to understand, and it’s not like she’s going to really understand what it’s about, right? And besides that, *I* happen to like the song. Heck, I like that whole album, seventh grade flashbacks notwithstanding.
I love that Axl’s version of “acting” is to comb his hair down & wear a baseball cap. And that he has that freaking piece of hay in his mouth. Because I’m sure he’d still be chewing on that after the 2000+ mile bus trip from Indiana to Los Angeles. Whatever, Axl.
So we’re rocking out in the car, and then we get to this one part toward the end of the song…
“You know where you are? You’re in the JUNGLE, baby! You’re gonna DIIIEEEEE!!!”
I didn’t even think anything about it, but then suddenly I heard this very worried voice from the backseat:
“Mommy? Why the baby gonna die?”
Oh, shit. I mean, what do you even say to that?
So I quickly tried to do some damage control and I said, “No no no, he wasn’t talking about a real baby, he was just calling somebody baby, you know like how I call you ‘sweetie’ and I call Daddy ‘hon’ and that kind of thing? It’s just a nickname. And nobody’s really going to die, he just meant that… uh… that something they were going to do was going to be really, really hard. He was just using an expression.”
So! Lesson learned. From now on, I’ll remember to keep the iPod and the adapter in my purse so I always have it with me, and we’ll listen to nothing but the goddamn Wiggles until she’s in high school. Because I’m pretty sure they don’t have any songs about country bumpkins that go to the big city seeking fame and fortune who end up as drug-addicted whores.
I mean, unless “Fruit Salad, Yummy Yummy” has some hidden subtext that I’ve never noticed. I suppose anything’s possible.