Folly of the Faithful Canine

After asking my dad for ideas of the subject of his birthday poem, I asked my mom for hers. This is slightly early.

I once heard from someone online who professed
To have no use for music at all.
I didn’t reply, for what words could I say
So that music would have him in thrall?

That man has my pity; he’s not only missing
The pleasure of one of life’s joys.
My sources agree that it’s good for our health
In some ways we don’t get from mere noise.

It elevates mood with a dopamine rush,
Which reduces depression and stress.
If we hear it at mealtime, we tend to slow down
And will ultimately consume less.

It lowers your heart rate and blood pressure levels.
It eases and manages pain.
It raises alertness and stimulates memories,
Great for an elderly brain.

It helps with endurance in physical exercise
Sessions and also with sleep.
To think these medicinal properties all
Are in music, which comes to us cheap!

I got an honorable mention in the latest Style Invitational results. The new contest also involves poetry, so I'm giving it a spin, this time with four entries. In case you can't read the link, it's about short poems using terms that Merriam-Webster added this month.

1. Most albums that I’ve listened to begin with something hot.
It makes a lot of sense to give a hit the foremost spot.
In music terms, a deep cut is a less familiar song.
“The first cut is the deepest”? Boy, Cat Stevens got it wrong.

2. If you adopt a hoglet, you had best not name it Sonic.
You wouldn’t want one dashing super-fast around the house.
Perhaps you have a slowpoke and would like to be ironic,
But tempting fate is scary with a prickly pseudo-mouse.

3. When a new CEO of Nintendo
Reached his office, he must have thought, “Yup,
This is it, the top floor of the building,
So I’ll never again level up.”

4. Imagine if a supervillain stuck to petty crime,
Only using superpowers for evasion.
Would heroes try to stop him? Would he not be worth their time?
Would they even give some thought to this equation?
If he should get away with it and everyone found out,
Would authorities be all the more maligned?
Would laws be changed if not repealed? There may be room for doubt,
But I’d bet that’s what the villain had in mind.

Some sources say a mandolin’s a certain type of lute,
While others count them sep’rately. I won’t join that dispute.
Instead, I’ll note how mandolins stand out from all the rest
Of what we label lutes. Perhaps what first should be addressed
Is how they’re played: A mandolin most often takes a pick
For plucking, while for others, only strumming does the trick.
Most lutes are deep and bowl-like, but a mandolin is flat
And streamlined, and it doesn’t have an L-shaped neck like that.
Its pegs do not face backward; they stick outward to the side.
For extra pressure on the strings, the bridge is where it’s wide.
Some models have a pair of sound holes like a violin.
They always have four double strings; for lutes, that’s very thin.
A mandolin is more compact and easier to learn.
I’d sooner recommend it if you don’t have cash to burn.

I am a dogman from the country,
And I walk on two feet,
Searching in the night
For an animal to eat.

I hear you trembling in your houses.
I can smell you through the spruce.
And the Michigan Dogman
Is still on the loose.

I’m not as dreaded as a wolfman,
But I hunt in a pack,
And if you hear my manlike scream,
Prepare for an attack.

Never mind the Beast of Bray Road.
I’m your reason to vamoose.
And the Michigan Dogman
Is still on the loose.

The Style Invitational challenge due Monday calls for rewriting popular songs as limericks. The limit's 25; I've come up with a dozen, focusing on lyrics that I perceive as distinctive and neither too serious nor too bizarre. The full instructions say to identify the songs by title, which I will upon submission, but I thought it would be more fun to let you guys figure 'em out:

( Cut for length )

The latest Style Invitational contest involves working one or more of 38 examples of Merriam-Webster's latest word additions into a poem of up to eight lines. I considered alluding heavily to Free Solo in a poem about that term, but it wasn't grabbing me. I also thought about using my knowledge of cinematic stingers, but someone else would likely have the same idea. Then I remembered a song I heard part of earlier today and decided to parody it:

If you like faking adventure and getting caught in a trap,
If you dig solving puzzles taking more than a snap,
If you like doing lots of teamwork and keeping neurons in shape,
Well, I know this escape room; come with me and escape!

That seemed a little sparse, so I submitted a less musical (yet musical-related) entry as well:

A great actress and singer is Rita Moreno.
Not everyone respects her, but eh, what do they know?
Only one other person has gotten what she got:
The Triple Crown of Acting as well as the EGOT.

I had heard good things about Catherynne Valente. I don't recall whether I had this particular book on my wish list (unlikely; it came out last year) or my sister just thought it sounded right for me, but I agreed with her assessment. More than one blurb likened it to Douglas Adams meeting David Bowie, and Valente herself thanks both in her acknowledgments.

( Cut for length )

My next read is Storm Front by Jim Butcher. We'll see if the fantasy noir of the Dresden Files works for me.

Is this the Queen smash? No, just a parody,
Making up new words to Bohemian Rhapsody.
Boy, what a song; it’s six minutes long, whoopee!
Who wrote this gamble? Why, Freddie Mercury;
He made the whole thing up in his head;
That is what Brian said.
Anyway, the hit sounds unlike any other to me, to me.

After the intro’s done,
Freddie sings alone a while in a ballad type of style,
Playing grand piano keys
As a bass provides dramatic underscores.
Freddie’s croon
Soon becomes a plaintive cry.
His octave reaches almost to soprano—
What a voice, what a voice—
As not many men can master.

Once more, things simmer down.
You might call this the third stanza; “verse” is not the word.
Looking at the lyrics, you’d think it’s sad,
But I’ve never known a listener to sob.
Freddie’s tune
Somehow must defy
The common means of making us mourn at all.

Then comes the operatic section of the suite.
Other voices join in, using words that sound random.
Suddenly, they’re shrieking, veritably freaking me—
Why so squeaky? (Don’t be cheeky!)
Why repeat it? (Can you beat it?)
Why use old and famous names (and foreign words)?

Ah, on to Freddie’s clipped arioso—
No, now the group must shout him down, don’t you know,
Claiming to hope they will lessen his woe!
Freddie still keeps his head, soft and low instead.
(Bass growling)
Whoa! Do you know what they said? (Let me check!)
“Bismillah”? Whatever could that mean? (Let me check!)
Bismillah: a word in the Qu’ran? (You don’t say!)
“In the name of God”? (You don’t say!)
Here I thought I’d read (Be careful!)
He’s of Parsi stock. (Yes, he is!)
So—so—so—so—so—so—so—
So he’s a fan of the exotic; let ‘em sing it if they like!
It’s clear enough that the plotline’s not supposed
To be so plain to see!

That guitar’s reestablished the genre as rock!
Freddie’s tone has grown angry, with meter to shock!
Oh, Freddie, how’d you think this up, Freddie?
All this is far out; nobody comes anywhere near!

Now the song’s concluding, oh so peacefully,
Like an ending park ride.
What a great performance to me!
(Ending on an F chord?)

There was an old lady who swallowed a turkey.
Don't ask me how, for the details are murky.
She swallowed the turkey to catch the duck.
Boy, it must suck to swallow a duck.
She swallowed the duck to catch the chicken,
Which still was alive and had feathers still stickin'.
She swallowed the chicken to eat the feed,
But she didn't need to swallow the feed;
'Twas all in greed.

I opted to celebrate my 35th birthday three days early due to family convenience. Tonight happened to be Nerds Trivia Night at Politics & Prose, so we went to that after I opened my presents. My brother-in-law was tired and never does have much confidence in his trivia abilities, but we talked him into coming with us. Good thing, too, because he knew some answers the rest of us didn't. He and my sister did not stick around for the final results. Too bad for them.

The theme of the night, as we gleaned from the poster, was Cher, who had her birthday today. We bombed severely on the visual round, which entailed matching Cher album images to titles. Dad thought we were going to get one of the lower overall scores -- until they started announcing scores from least to greatest. First place had only 23 points out of a possible 36; usually it's more like 33.

We remain convinced that the graders messed up in giving us 19 points instead of 21. Another team lodged a comparable complaint, tho admitting they wouldn't have won or placed. Still, if not for this error, the ensuing events probably would have been less interesting.

When two teams tie for a prize-winning place -- be it first, second, or even last -- one person from each team enters a dance-off, to be judged by the audience. A team could forfeit instead, but that has yet to happen. Since I was the only halfway-young member of our team, I was tapped and offered no resistance. I didn't actually get nervous until I was one of two guys standing in a cleared space, waiting for the song.

Please understand: I used to fear public dancing more than death. It was one thing to do a choreographed dance in a play, but improvising for fun? I felt altogether too gawky. At 15, I even once snatched my hand away from an attractive girl who wanted to dance with me at a gathering with only about a dozen people, most of whom were not in the room. This fear abated gradually, but tonight I was literally being judged by maybe a hundred people.

If this were a livelier Cher number, I might have been in real trouble. Instead, it was "Welcome to Burlesque," from the little-appreciated movie Burlesque (2010) with Christina Aguilera. (It was included in the music round of the trivia, but absolutely no one got it.) This tango is open to interpretive dance, as the host said.

My mind raced back to the last time anyone was impressed at my dancing. I was 13, in an avant-garde camp production. The song was Rusted Root's "Back to the Earth." In our practice, I thought the beginning of the song evoked the kindling of a flame (less evident in the linked recording), so I imitated a growing flame myself. The director told me to keep at it, only with more dramatic movements.

So tonight, I started out similarly: eyes closed or nearly closed, moving my arms more than my legs. Occasionally I'd do a yoga-like sweep. The important part in my mind was to keep changing it up. Not all motions very abstract. Maybe a little sultry, in a facetious way.

Because of my mostly closed eyes, I couldn't rightly tell which of us got the most cheering. I later learned that the other guy gave up after watching me for a bit.

Somehow, this feels like more of an accomplishment than the time we came in first. Or either of the times that I supplied the night's best team name.

Sadly, neither of my parents figured out in time how to work the video function on their phones. Well, sadly for them. I'd just as soon not show the Internet. But I don't mind telling you all about it.

BTW, one of my presents was Just Dance 2017. That ought to prepare me for next time, if there is one.

Alas, the organizer will be quitting soon. I almost want to take over for him. Perhaps I will do something like it someday. If so, I'll have to decide whether to subject others to the dance-off.