Boots McBlog

I’ve become a huge fan of  Gabe Dixon Band this last year.    I accidentally discovered this song while perusing Grooveshark today.   Such a happy little tune.  You may have heard the Stevie Wonder version.   Gabe and boys seem to have recorded this for the closing credits of 2006 movie of Charlotte’s Web.   I must say, it’s ” SOME SONG!”.   I’ve hit “replay” nearly 15 times now and have been belting it out  in my best  small church, hands raised,  BIG gospel voice all morning.

Thought it I’d share it with you, my sweet friends to put a little pep in your step today.

“There’s a place in the sun,  where there’s hope for everyone”

 

Oh, if you happen to discover where I can buy this,  please let me know.    Because, while there is a place in the sun for everyone, this song is not on iTunes.

 

 

 

I kept this pinned to my bulletin board above my office desk for years.   It now is on my dressing table and I look at it each morning.   Thought it was perfect to share this HOT Monday.

Now, get out there and do your wonderful thing.

“Tell us a ‘fun fact” about yourself”

Don’t you just hate it when you’re in a meeting, an interview, or  business mixer and this is the icebreaker they throw out at you?   Aaargh!  The pressure to be unique. witty. memorable.

A few years ago I was part of a leadership training class comprised of 50 of the city’s up and comers (read: highly competitive folks ). Our first session, we were assigned the seriously lame task of “fun fact” finding ( read: corporate speed dating) to discover the who’s who of ever impressive achievements, traits, or associations?

“Where’s the guy who climbed Kilimanjaro?”

“Anyone seen the chick with Mick Jagger as a Godfather?”

“Who ate the 72 oz porterhouse in one sitting in some random Texas town”

You get the drift.

Going into the event I had my usual four options for fun facts.

Option 1: I can hang a spoon from my nose
Option 2: I’ve never ( no never) had my ears pierced.
Option 3: I can correctly say tongue twisters at warp speed
Option 4: I write jingles

 

 

On this day, I chose to go with Number 4. Now, when I say I write jingles, I don’t mean that you’ll hear my diddys selling you dish detergent on the tele (not yet anyway). Mostly I write silly song spoofs or goofy poems….about my dog…which is a a fun little fact I forgot when I disclosed this publicly.   I never dreamed the follow up question from each curious leader would be, “Will you sing one for me?”   Oh, the horror.

Nobody really appreciated The Finley Dog version of top 40 hits as much as I did.  Nor did they want to endure my “I’m a Junior Leaguer” to SmashMouth’s Shrek hit “I’m a believer”.  To say I was slightly defeated and deflated by the end of that mixer is an understatement. Luckily, lying in bed, inspiration struck that night. By the next morning, I presented an Ode to Class 23, a rhyming treat of (nearly) all 50 fun facts of my classmates.   It was a hit.   I was redeemed!

I wrote a few more poems for the class and for the Junior League that year ( My apologies to Kenny Rogers turning “The Gambler” into a Junior League anthem.  It was just too easy. I couldn’t fold that one)

Then something terrible happened. Life got wonky. I lost my silly song mojo. A dark cloud hung over my giddiness. It was  indeed, the day the jingle died.

Now, I don’t know if it was my near death experience with Ninja Lenny Kravitz a couple of weeks ago, but suddenly I’m feeling zippier, giddier, more like…well, me. There’s a renewed tingle in my jingle maker.   (btw – I totally have dibs on selling that last line to viagra). I’ve gotten my silly back.

The thing about getting my silly back is, I’m never sure when inspiration will strike.  So last night, when the POTUS stood to share with us the great news of troops making their way back to U.S. soil, all I could really hear was the quirky way he pronounces the word “Tal-i-ban” much like Harry Bellafonte’s pronunciation of “Tallyman” in his great hit “Day-O!   / The Banana Boat Song”

That, darlings, is all it took for me to chase a lyrical rabbit for the rest of the night. A political Obama version of Day-O began looping through my head and by the end of the night it had morphed into a more personal version. Think Elle Wood meets Weird Al Yankovick meets Harry Bellafonte extravaganza. So, I hope you’ll oblige me for a little afternoon blog silliness.   And while we’re at it,   I’d love to hear your “fun fact” in the comments below.
Now everybody, sing along. (to the tune of the Banana Boat Song)

Day o
Day o
daylight come, me don’t wanna go run

I ate a cupcake. I cleaned my plate.
(Daylight come, me don’t wanna go run)

Shoes still fit, if I gain weight
(daylight come, me don’t wanna go run)

Come Mr. Shoe Man, Bring me some Manolos
(daylight come, me wanna shoe shop) (repeat x2)

Jimmy Choo, Miu Miu, Louboutin Pump
Daylight come and she wanna shoe shop (repeat x2)

Day
Me say Day-O
Daylight come and she wanna shoe shop

A beautiful wedge or a strappy sandal
(daylight come and she wanna shoe shop)

140mm, there’s no height she can’t handle
(Daylight come and she wanna shoe shop)

Prada, Fendi, Brian Atwood …pump
(daylight come and she wanna shoe shop)

Come Mr. Shoeman bring me Valentino’s

Daylight come and

me wanna

shoe shop

 

 

Cheer’s Y’all.   I hope you’ll make time to get your silly on today.

 

xoxo,

jobeth

(source: pinterest)

 

Every southern girl worth her salt, can quote a line or two from “Steel Magnolias”.  In one particular heartfelt scene of the movie,  Shelby looks deep into her mother’s questioning eyes and says,  ”I’d rather have a thirty minutes of wonderful, than a lifetime of nothing special”.   Traditionally, on this blog  this is the point I’d dive into a life lesson.  I’d look for the spiritual meaning in it all.   Well, y’all, it’s summer.    I mean – it is full-on 100 degree summer already.   Seven days in a row of this heat, the sun is searing my brain.  When school lets out for summer, so does my brain.   I don’t want emotional insights.   I don’t want to think.    Shelby may have needed 30 minutes of wonderful,   I just wanted 90 minutes of nothing.

Last week,  I cashed in a spa gift certificate I had been holding onto for quite awhile.   This would be the perfect way  to spend ninety minutes thinking about ab-so-lute-ly nothing.

I don’t know about you,  but I’m not really good at thinking about “nothing”.   I’ve never managed to do it.   On this day,  I was determined.

GOAL:  For 90 minutes,  I will not think about anything!

SO there I was sitting in the waiting area of the spa, my mind kept whirling?    ”Is your goal measurable?  How will you know if you thought of nothing?   You better take mental notes…just in case”

My name is called.   I’m introduced to David.   Massage time…

In case you ever wonder,  here’s what “absolutely nothing” translates to:

 

“This masseuse …or is it masseur? … looks a lot like Lenny Kravitz.

How cool would it be if Lenny Kravitz moonlighted as a massage therapist?

You’ve got to LET LOVE RULE  (let ….love… ruuu –le)

Quit wasting thought time.  I’ve really got to start thinking about nothing…get thee to thy happy place.

Did I just think in Shakespeare?

Ok.  happy place.  happy place.  happy place.  deep breath.  happy place.

I’ve got it!   My dreamy pink cottage.  all white interiors.   a picket fence and a garden of peonies, roses and lavender.   Water view.    Sweet ice tea on the back porch at sunset.  deep breath.   deep breath.  I can hear the crickets…I can hear music

What is this music?   It reminds me of…The aurora borealis!    Note to self:  add to bucket list,  I want to see the aurora borealis.  I’ll need to download this weird music when I do.

You know, I’ve never met a child who dreams of becoming a new age musician…  or smooth jazz  musician for that matter.   Do they get all dreamy-eyed when they walk through Stein Mart or ride an elevator?

And what kind of music does a new age musician or smooth jazz artist listen to when their work stresses them out?

That might be funny to tweet.   Then again,  I’m a big dork.  I’ve been tweeting too much lately.

If Lenny Kravitz masseur was a ninja he could move his elbow a little to the left right now and kill me

It’s surprising how I’ve trusted my care in a state “undressed to the level of my comfort”  to a complete stranger for the next 90 minutes…or …. darn it, I bet we’re down to 45 minutes now.   I’ve flipped over.

I bet Al Gore wishes he had not trusted his masseuse.

Why are you thinking about Al Gore?   He’s gross.  Get back to your pink cottage.

If I went back to work, I could buy my pink cottage.   I really should get a job.

OWW!  Seriously,  Ninja Lenny,  one good crack and my neck is broken

Oh wait,  are you massaging my head now?   No,  really, are you stroking my hair?

it’s over?    Already?   Oh, Lenny, don’t you know, it ain’t o-ver til it’s oooo-ver.”

So much for thinking about nothing.   Now excuse me,   I suddenly realized I need to download some Lenny songs.