It is t-minus 36 hours until a chapter of my master’s thesis is due and we’ve entered the dangerous, rewriting-lyrics-to-songs phase of the process.
For those of you who haven’t written a master’s thesis (or, more to the point, for those of you who aren’t LUNATICS) I’ll explain.
It starts out innocently enough. Punchy from hours staring at a computer and days without wearing real pants, I casually change the lyrics to a song I’m writing about:
Tell the folks in Nome, what you’re doing Roger
I’m finding one sled dog.
My roommate laughs nervously. Not only isn’t it funny but it doesn’t actually make much sense… or rhyme with anything really. But at least I’ve stopped talking to myself and gotten off the couch.
Little does she know it’s only the beginning.
Two hours later it happens again, this time at least it’s topical. Putting my sweatshirt on to go get my wash from the laundry I serenade her by inventing not one, not two but three unique choruses of Laundromat Races:
Laundromat Races sing this song
Do da do da
Walk to the Laundromat two blocks long
Oh the do da day…
The situation here is grave.
Now, it’s not like this is the first time this has happened. A fateful, undercaffeinated walk in the park several years ago led my last roommate to not only learn all the words to my stirring epic, I Hate My Internet Boyfriend, but also left the tune inexplicably lodged in her brain for weeks afterward; an original melody is hard to shake.
Still, if history tells us anything (and hopefully it tell us something otherwise I have even less of a clue about why I’m getting this master’s degree) it’s that this recent rash of stupid song lyrics is a bad scene. And a sign of much worse things to come…