Category Funny

May 4 2013

Burt Bacharach’s Music is What They Play on the Elevator Going to Hell*

One Sunday morning, while listening to NPR, I heard a piece on Burt Bacharach. It listed some of his classics — Walk on By, Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on my Head, What’s New, Pussycat, etc.

“That is amazing!” I thought. “That’s truly extraordinary!”

“Why, I hate all of these songs!”

Yes, apparently there was an unseen force in the universe, tying all smarmy music together, and that force was Burt Bacharach. Who knew? I was fascinated — how can One Man write so many songs that make me immediately want to take a shower?

I tried to be open-minded. Everyone says he’s a genius, and who am I? Just a weirdo with a dream.** Nevertheless, though I haven’t yet known “success” or “acclaim” from music, and Burt Bacharach is “rich,” I still have my opinions!

I really wanted to feel differently about him. I even watched documentaries about Burt Bacharach and the Brill building. But no dice. He still creeped me out.

As he spoke in his fuzzy powder-blue turtleneck, I had a vision in my head. It’s the 1970’s, and pretty naive Californian housewife Rhonda is visited by her husband’s sleazy friend when her husband’s away.

“Oh Rhonda, let’s go for a ride, it’s a nice day.”

“Oh Burt, gosh I don’t know. I don’t know if I should. Larry might not like it.”

“It’s just a ride, right? Besides, some fresh air might do you good.”

They stop to have lunch, and it just so happens that the restaurant is in the lobby of a hotel. After dinner, wouldn’t you know it? The manager is a friend of Burt’s, and he always makes a room available, just for an hour or two, when his good friend Burt is in town. Burt sure is tired, he’d like to lie down and have some shut-eye for 45 minutes before hitting the road again. Rhonda wouldn’t want him to be an unsafe driver, now would she? And maybe she can have a nap, too! It’ll be so European.

After getting her into the hotel room, Burt says that Rhonda looks “tense” and she needs to “relax more.” After giving her a massage, he starts to kiss her, and when she pulls away, he says how this is a “new time” and “bourgeoise ideas about ‘ownership’ don’t apply to modern people like us” and “grownups make their own choices in the world.”***

Rhonda is hopelessly confused. She’s always been a good girl, but Burt is saying that being a good girl is really being a bad girl. Oh, but what about Larry? He’d be so upset. He wouldn’t understand all that stuff about being modern and grownup, he’d just be mad.

Rhonda pulls away, at which point Burt becomes enraged, “So that’s it, huh? You’re just like all the others. A tease and a bitch. You’re a cold bitch who lures me up here and then turns on me. I’ll never forgive you for this, never!”

“What? I…what?”

“You’re just heartless. You don’t care for me at all.”

“No! That’s not true! I do care for you!”

And so on. At last, by a combination of smooth talking and bullying, our friend Burt sleeps with Rhonda. Afterwards, she’s completely baffled by what has occurred, but falls into a regular affair with Burt because “after all, you seemed to like it the first time” and “your husband isn’t as enlightened as we are — I’d hate to see him find out.” Maybe she even leaves her husband for Burt in the end.

And all the while, he’s wearing that same powder blue turtleneck! When she visits him, she’s not allowed to drive his car, touch his stereo, or pick out any records herself from his meticulously-arranged record collection. And of course, she needs to leave after they have sex. “I need to get my sleep, babe.”

That scenario is what I think of whenever I hear the music of Burt Bacharach. 

———————————————————

* The main downside to writing this piece is that I now have Burt Bacharach songs stuck in my head. The things I do for you people.

** Or a muppet who somehow took human form. You decide.

***He might also bring up something about yoga and EST and wanting to help her “open up her chakras.” It depends on which flavor of sleazy 70’s guy he is.

Apr 27 2013

Special Lady Time, Part II.

The next morning, as I waited for my results, I figured one of two scenarios was most likely:

A. They would call and say, “After all that radiation, discomfort, and expense, we didn’t find anything.” This would certainly be the most annoying turn of events, so it was the one I was preparing myself for mentally.

B. They would call and say, “You have a cyst on your right ovary.”

As luck would have it, it turned out to be B. I had a 3 centimeter ovarian cyst, which would explain the pain, nausea, and other good stuff.

Oh! And, while CT scans are best for most imaging, it turns out that ovaries really like Ultrasounds. And Ultrasounds, unlike CT scans, are free with my insurance. And have no downsides. Which made me wonder:

Why didn’t they Start with an Ultrasound?

But I can’t think that way. Only madness results in thinking that way.

I was excited for my ultrasound on Thursday, and wondered if I should hop on the facebook bandwagon usually reserved for impending birth, and post my ultrasound.

I decided to name my cyst “Timmy.”

Apr 27 2013

Special Lady Time.

This was a special week at Sofi Labs, a magical time henceforth to be known as Meet Your Deductible Week. In addition to going to a Very Fancy Specialist Doctor who doesn’t take insurance,*  I awoke on Wednesday with a painful twinge in my lower right side.

Now, since the lower right side has a bunch of stuff in it, including the incredible exploding appendix,** I went over to the local walk-in clinic. “It’s not appendicitis,” said the nurse practitioner dude. “But you really need to get a CT scan.”

I was all, “Hey, can I not get a CT scan and just, you know, save it for later?” and he was all, “Nope.”

At the CT scan place, a nice lady at the front desk started explaining to me exactly why, even with my fancy-shmancy health insurance, I would still be paying $500 out of pocket. She spoke sentences that were probably intended to be English, like, “So we’re taking 50% of your deductible, after we deduct what you’ve already paid, and then of course that’s the agreed-upon rate, and then we take 20% above that thanks to the 80-20 calculation.”

I got in close to her and said, “Look, I’m good at math. I took Calculus. And I don’t understand a word you just said.”

She started again, from the beginning. At last, I understood how — in a parallel universe where everything is hopelessly complex — one might be able to say I owed $500 today. I was certainly not happy that it was all so baffingly complicated,*** but I was satisfied enough for now. I took my seat.

At that point, the nice technician gave me a large cup of liquid. It was a contrast dye, so that my insides would show up better on the CT scan.

It didn’t seem so bad, in the beginning. They’d mixed it with Crystal Light®, and the taste wasn’t awful. But somehow, as I drank, it got harder and harder to get it down. I felt like Dumbledore drinking that bottomless liquid in Voldemort’s cave. (Sans zombies.)

I had 2 hours to kill in the waiting room while the contrast dye worked its way into my bloodstream. In vain, I searched for a People or even a Hello!, but they only had hyperspecific medical journals, so I had to curl up with Separation of Conjoined Craniopagus Twins: A Case Study. The article showed step-by-step diagrams of the process by which 2 twins joined at the head were eventually separated. The end showed both twins happy and relatively healthy, wearing special protective helmets. One assumes their skulls will be rebuilt once they stop growing.

Even after reading this informative article, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to separate conjoined twins in a pinch, but it passed the time.

At last, my two hours of waiting were up, and I went in to get the CT scan. The technicians were very nice, and except for that moment where I felt extremely weird when they injected me with dye (More Dye), it all went fine.

——————————————————-

* “None of the good people take insurance these days,” I was assured by the office of another fancy specialist. So, this means that if you want to get medical care, you better A) pay for insurance, then B) pay for your deductible and then C) have another Large Stack of Money to pay out of pocket for the doctors who are actually good, in case  you actually want to get “better.”

** Funny story about the appendix. My friend once had emergency surgery for appendicitis, and when she awoke from surgery, her doctor said, “Congratulations! You had the Appendix of the Year!”

Turns out, her appendix had started to rupture, but then her right fallopian tube had reached over and twisted around the rupture to tie off her appendix.

This is when I realized, we really have no idea how the human body works at all. 

***  I’m reminded of the following quote, by P.J. O’Rourke:

“Beyond a certain point complexity is fraud … when someone creates a system in which you can’t tell whether or not you’re being fooled, you’re being fooled.”

Mar 30 2013

Random Miscellany

I’m in the midst of a massive going-through-my-papers, if-I-can’t-die-famous-at-least-I-can-die-without-20-year-old-paystubs PROJECT.

So far, I have shredded 8 pounds of paper, and recycled almost as much, a turn of events as deeply satisfying as anything outside of the realms of sex and chocolate can be.

Today I’ve found several funny things, including:

1. A “Blue Bulletin” from Andover. This was a souvenir of the daily announcements sheet from my high school. My then-boyfriend gave it to me, because my name was on the infirmary list for that day.

Besides the desperate calls for new members of the Physics and Debate Clubs (“New members welcome. Food!”), I liked the announcement for computer classes:

LEARN HOW TO WORD PROCESS ON THE APPLE IIe! Any student who has a major paper due this term and who would like to learn more about the features of AppleWorks is urged to attend. 

Even then, Apple had only a loose understanding of the rules of capitalization.

2. A math test from Senior year in high school. First question:

f(x) = 1/x2, g(x) = 0 , x = 1, x = 4

Apparently, I once understood exactly what this meant.

3. On a 3 x 5 notecard:

“But here in New York, we have something we think about as much as romantic love. Which is real estate.”

This whole experience is like a guided tour of my brain from the past 15 years.

Mar 16 2013

Lessons from Star Trek

Things I have learned from watching Star Trek: The Next Generation:

1. In the future, we will all wear pajamas.

2. People in the future don’t have to go to the bathroom. This is why they can walk around in one-piece bodystockings with no discernible zippers.

3. If you happen upon any Eden-like planets, filled with nubile, willing inhabitants, RUN AWAY.

This is because:

 A) They plan to mate with you, then drain you of your living essence.

B) Things are great there because they kill all the lawbreakers OR they kill everyone over 25 OR there’s some other kind of seedy-underbelly-type-action going on.

C) Surprise! There is no planet with nubile young playthings. It’s all a hallucination created by a malevolent being to distract you while you’re being…drained of your living essence (see A).

By Sofia Echegaray • Posted in Funny
0
Mar 16 2013

And the winner is…

Just found some of my old journals from Harvard. I found a quote of a kid in my choir who was drunk: “I’ve had so much vodka that I don’t mind that this is London Dry instead of Bombay Sapphire.”

Yep. It’s like pretentiousness boot camp.

By Sofia Echegaray • Posted in Funny
0
Feb 1 2013

7 Things I’ve Learned from Magazines

During my period of extended convalescence, I’ve had a lot of free time in my apartment, stuck inside. So, I started doing things I never used to do before, like reading glossy magazines. Waste of time and/or money? What else was I going to do all day?

Here’s what I’ve learned:

1. A Flat Stomach makes you Pure.

In the olden days, our culture was obsessed with a woman’s virginity. Nowadays, we’ve decided it’s ok to have sex, as long as you look like you are a virgin — i.e., 12. So, our strange compromise has led us to fetishize 25-year-old women with the body fat of preadolescents.

If at any point of your life, your curves do not make you appear 12, then you must be a witch a prostitute “fat.”

2. A Well-Appointed Closet is the new Porn. 

Did you know that if your bedroom closet is perfectly arranged and color-coded.  you have succeeded at the game of life? There will be much Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth, as other women Rue Your Victory.

Now sit down, perfect-closet-having-person, and have a nice romantic dinner for two, just You. And Your Closet.

3. Inherited wealth is an accomplishment. 

An “accomplishment” is when you do something remarkable with what you are given — such as becoming rich after being born into poverty. Or, for that matter, becoming compassionate after being born into privilege. But starting a frivolous clothing line at Bendel’s because you’re an heiress with nothing better to do is not that remarkable.

4. A nice home bought with lots and lots of money is also an accomplishment. 

Look, if I had 5 million dollars to spend on a Paris apartment, I’m sure my place would look nice, too.

5. The best way to live a simple, uncluttered life is to buy lots of new stuff.

“But honey, it’s a zen coffee table!”

6. The second best way to live a simple, uncluttered life is to buy lots of magazines advocating simplicity. 

Piles of old magazines will give your Buddhist-retreat vibe that perfect touch.

7. Have a major life decision on your horizon? A short quiz written by strangers may be your salvation.

Yes, it’s true that some people spend years of searching to figure out their ideal mate, career choice, and management style, but maybe that’s because they didn’t take the quiz in the middle of O Magazine.

Dec 15 2012

Interjections

From the strange summer of 2009, a short piece on music and life:

I have developed a raging crush on someone, and I am unable to communicate with him in any sort of normal, human way. This is how it goes every time I see him:

Man: Hi, Sofia, how was—

Me: I LIKE LINOLEUM!

Man: …errr…

Me: IT’S MADE FROM FLAX!

Man: …I have to go talk with my friend now.

The good thing is that I am so awkward, and it makes both of us so uncomfortable, that I’m starting to find it funny. In fact, yesterday evening, at the end of a performance I went to, I said to him, “Hey, I was thinking, that since every time I see you, I say something awkward, we could just practice, and get it out of the way at the beginning.” He laughed.

Here’s my theory of harmony singing: if I’m singing along to a song I don’t know, I have to make my best guess about where the melody is going, and harmonize to that. If my guess turns out to be right, my harmony sounds pretty with the melody. If my guess turns out to be dissonant to the melody, then I’m singing a passing tone, on the way to the “right” note.

Passing tones are those little notes in a song where the harmonies sound a bit dissonant — it makes you feel tense to hear it, and you feel a need to resolve it. And, when the harmony goes back to sounding pretty, you feel this great sense of relief and beauty.

So maybe life is the same way. It’s either “right”, or it’s a passing tone. And, passing tones are “right,” too — in fact, some of the most exquisite moments in music that I’ve sung have been the passing tones. And both kinds of harmonies resolve at the end.

So maybe I can relax a little.