No, mr verge, not that Monica. These ladies are all considerably more worldly wise than that star-struck girl, so hugely flattered that Mr President ruined her best dress that she kept it as a mee-men-toe. And an insurance policy. She was an Intern, of course, not a professional SPAD, which meant that she donated her services to the President free of charge. Unlike Matt Hancock's bit of SPAD, whose professional fees came out of the public purse. That means my taxes. And yours.
Ladies and gentlemen, lets hear it for the great Lou Bega and his incredibly stylish video:
4 comments:
oh dear, mrs ishmael...
in the top-ten tunes which bug the bloody bejeezus outta me, bega's mambo no1 has gotta rank right up there...
indeed, i'm afraid it's at times like these that i really miss the recondite musicological maturity of the late mr ishmael.
now, don't tell me...
but you're probably also partial to perfect 10, itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polkadot bikini, agadoo, and macarena?
well, to be honest...
i'm more of a we're going to ibiza and barbie girl man, myself.
Sorry, mr ultrapox, I'll try harder.
Just wanted to inject a bit of fun and to riff on the theme of ladies who are no better than they should be, the sleazy world of pimps,SPADS and politicians and girls called Monica.
And of course we miss that great musicologist, mr ishmael, whose comprehensive musical knowledge extended from Palestrina to the Copper Family. Mind you, he was not impervious to the potency of cheap music, and adored Abba and Dolly Parton.
no, mrs ishamael, it is i who must apologize - for being a bit of an old fuddy-duddy.
you see, unfortunately, when listening to lieder, i tend to pay attention to the tune, but not the words, and am therefore usually left in total ignorance as to a piece's deeper, or even subliminal, meaning.
i am equally remiss in terms of my lyric-deafness whether the song be operatic or popular, by-the-way, however - as a us-based mi6-mole working tirelessly to recolonize this rebellious territory - i find my ability to mentally block out song-lines assists me incalculably in my continual endeavours to display due respect for the star-strangled-banner - the anti-imperialist and racist sentiments of which noxious national anthem would otherwise rile me to such a distressing degree that i would ultimately be unable to achieve my professional goal of blending chamaeleon-like into mainstream american society.
as for blogs, i must admit to having developed the rather bad habit of reading the comments, but not the actual blog-post upon which they are made.
thankfully, the beauty of visual art, dance, and music is that, as forms of communication, they require absolutely no words.
maybe i'm a purist
I have to confess to a degree of lyric-deafness myself, mr ultrapox, just can't understand them much of the time. Dylan - major offender. Fortunately, Youtube or Google can usually provide a transcript. Back in the day, of course, there were LP covers, providing positively yards of space for lyrics and notes, and a good cover for social phobia, as you could sit on the floor, back against the wall, lost in the sleeve-notes, avoiding the agony of trying to talk to strangers. People's handy portable computers and tracking devices - across the pond you call them cells - fulfill the same function these days.
Best of luck with the Chameleon Project.
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