So I was doing a little work around the apartment this morning - dishes, vacuuming, that kind of thing - and just idly singing a tune. I'm absolutely NOT a singer, but when I'm alone and no one else has to pay the price for my atonality it's all good. So I'm busy scrubbing the bathroom and I realize that I'm singing all the words to a song I'd thought I'd long forgotten.
I was singing - in its entirety - Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive.'
I'm not making this up, I started from the beginning and just let it all hang out. Loudly. I had gotten to the 'I will survive... hey hey' part before I realized what was going on and put a stop to it. But the tune's still there, running laps around my brain.
The fact that I had to live through the Disco years at all is a tragedy of epic proportions, but it's far, far worse that those coked-out ex-hippies managed to lodge a song in my cranium so thoroughly that I would sing the whole thing while cleaning the bathroom. It makes me feel dirty, like I'd been waiting in line for hours to try to get into Studio 54, with no chance at all it would happen.
This kind of thing needs some sort of atonement, some kind of expiation to wash the sin of Disco from my soul. Maybe I'll say a rosary to Led Zeppelin. 'Hail Jimmy Page, full of blues, the guitar is with thee...'
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