Four Theories on Why I Have Warrant Stuck in My Head

You know how you get a song stuck in your head?

Sometimes it annoys you, and sometimes it entertains you. Sometims it makes you start humming it, or it makes you turn to the person next to you and see if they know how to spell "The Monkees".

And sometimes, like the hiccups (as opposed to the hiccoughs (which are, to me, entirely different emotionally even as I can accept that they are alternate spellings, like "ketchup" and "catsup" or "tedious expression of bored creative energy" and "Ed O's Blog")) you don't know why you have been visited and you don't quite know how to get rid of it.

Well, if you know all of this, then continue to read. If you do not know, then you will never fully grok what I'm about to tell you, and you should push Alt-F4 if you're using Windows or Ctrl-w if you're on a Mac. (This blog does not support mobile devices, so you might need to check with your carrier for device-specific next steps in that case.)

Not coincidentally, relative to my preamble, I had a song pop into my head this morning.

It wasn't a song that I listen to every day. It wasn't a delightful power pop number with smooth harmonies and jangly guitars (which is about 95% of all the music I listen to).

It was this:

"Uncle Tom's Cabin" by Warrant.

Which was OK, I suppose. A couple of things were bugging me, though, as I sort of half-sang it as I took Rumpelstiltskin out to walk:

1. I don't know all the words. I hate that. I know the first three words, the chorus, and the final eight words--with MAYBE ten words intermingled elsewhere. Not that Rumpel is judging me, but ... irritating.
2. I have no idea where it came from. I hadn't listened to it in years and years. It was maybe my third-favorite song on the one Warrant CD I own(ed?) (Love in Stereo is a classic in that it redefines a classic in a way that is diametrically opposed to the common usage). Why the eff was it stuck in my head?

Because I didn't have much going on this morning (I plan on calling my family a bit later, but the Ducks and Wildcats are off, and my Civ V game is bogging down in the early 1800's (that Civ V site is built using Flash? Bad Sid Meier!) 

So I went to the Web. Specifically, I went to YouTube and listened to the song about ten times in a row (I've currently got Love in Stereo on loop, if you're following along at home).

Then I went to Facebook, letting everyone know of the critical development in my life (something I didn't do when I left my previous employer or broke up with my girlfriend... clearly my priorities are properly aligned).  I asked for insights as to why it would be stuck in my head.

After staring at the screen for a few moments and getting no replies (how dare people not wait, with bated breath and prepared typing fingers, to answer semi-rhetorical questions from me that pop up on their Facebook feed?) I kinda thought about it. And then I started this blog entry.

(Yes, you're right, that is usually the opposite order of things--I tend to think after I click on "Publish".)

So, with all that ado, here are some theories as to why "Uncle Tom's Cabin" might be stuck in my head this morning:

Theory One: Dog the Bounty Hunter

The other night I had a conversation with a friend, and the key (for our purposes here) portion went something like this:

[something I don't remember]
Me: Like Dog the Bounty Hunter?
Her: What?
[something I don't remember]

Clearly that part of the conversation meant a lot to me. (OK. I do remember some/maybe most of it: we actually talked about his hair and the location of where it's shot, etc., etc., but I didn't want to go into it since Blogger charges me by the keystroke.)

Dog the Bounty Hunter is, in case you've never seen the show, a bounty hunter. If you don't know what a bounty hunter is, please check out this fine image I made some years ago for another purpose:

In any case, Dog the Bounty Hunter had a show (which I never watched a single second of if I can be totally honest with you for one single time in my entire life) where he hunted down people for jumping bail. When someone jumps bail, something is issued for her (and I'm not using "her" in the gender-neutral sense here, because only women jump bail, according to that Bounty Hunter poster I 'shopped above) arrest.

That thing? A warrant.

Capitalize "warrant" and what do you get? Aside from regrets that you took the time do such an inane thing, you get "Warrant".

Which just happens to be the name of the band that plays the song that's stuck in my head.

Theory Two: Nelson Mandela

I'm going to say something, and it might be controversial. 

OK. Now I'm going to type what I just said, and I understand it might be controversial. But here goes:

Apartheid was bad.

Even if we can get over the fact that there's an "h" in that word when it's clearly not needed to pronounce it like I do, it was still an odious system that oppressed untold (at least to me, since I haven't googled it) numbers of people and created a gaping wound that the country of South Africa is still trying to heal.

First the tulip bubble, then apartheid... there's a reason that Michael Caine hates the Dutch. (The irony, of course, being that Michael Caine was personally responsible for the deaths of dozens of extras during the shooting of the classic portrayal of the put-upon white guys in 1964's "Zulu".)

(Hey, guess what? Michael Caine didn't really kill anyone during that movie. It was during "The Cider House Rules".)

In any case, apartheid was bad, and one man who gets (and deserves, based on my very sketchy understanding of the facts regarding apartheid and the history of the world generally) a lot of credit for ending it is Nelson Mandela.

Mandela died the other day at the age of 95 (I'm not sure why I added in his age... it just seems that's what's done when someone talks about his death) and he has received (and deserves, based on my very sketchy understanding of the facts regarding apartheid and the history of the world generally) almost universal plaudits (fun word, "plaudits") for his contributions to society and the world and Facebook users feeling like they're sensitive and smart for posting about his passing.

I read something (maybe in the Times (I read "the Times" in my head in a snobby voice, for the record)) about criticisms that he received internally. While you might take this as his stomach reacting to the spicy food he ate regularly, I actually meant domestic political second-guessing and disagreement.

Mandela, according to these people, was too willing to accommodate the other side in order to make a deal. He sacrificed a chance at equality and justice in the name of half-measured expediency.

Are those people right? I have no idea. My knowledge of Mandela is limited, as a practical matter, to knowing how old he was when he died and the totally made-up fact that he had a penchant for spicy foods (I think I will fabricate that he liked buffalo wings).

(My traffic just spiked as all of the "Nelson Mandela buffalo wings" searches just got pushed to me.)

But he was criticized as a sell-out. A collaborator. Even as an Uncle Tom.

(To be honest, I'm not even sure I should be using the term here, but if we cannot use it in the abstract sense in the hallowed and revered and [third synonym for comedic effect, augmented (some might say exacerbated) by brackets for attempt at fourth wall-breaking joke] academic institution that is my blog, where can it be used?)

In the early 1850's, Harriet Beacher Stowe wrote a series of pieces, most of which have fallen into the dust bin of history. While one work will form the basis for Disney's upcoming Star Wars Episode VII, she wrote another novel that has garnered attention.

Let me say a couple of things here: I have not read the novel, and I am not sure I'm a fan of Harriet Beacher Stowe (primarily because she sounds like the kind of woman who wouldn't shave her armpits regularly and I gotta admit that kinda grosses me out).

That novel is a little number called Uncle Tom's Cabin. Which (in case you weren't paying attention (I wouldn't blame you) just so happens to be the name of the song stuck in my head.

Theory Three: My Family

I have had some kinda crazy-big stuff happen recently, some of which I alluded to above and some of which involves running out of milk with two boxes full of delicious chocolate granola almond breakfast cereal sitting in my pantry, but I don't communicate it very well. I think I am capable of doing so, but I tend not to. I want to let things settle down and THEN I'll tell them.

The "them" here is my family, in this case.

The down side of that is that life keeps going and connections that have been made are impacted by changes in my status and if I neglect to share information in anything resembling a timely manner, confusion can ensue and feelings might get hurt.

My father is the middle child. His younger brother is Tom, and maybe I'm having Warrant run through my mind over and over in my head because I don't talk to my Uncle Tom enough.

I mean that in the literal sense in terms of Warrant running through my mind. It's a Micronauts/Honey I Shrunk the Kids situation.

Theory Four: Failure

I like to sing karaoke. I like it a lot. I like it, one might argue, too much.

I am pretty good at singing karaoke. One might argue I am not as good as I think I am, but... fuck that one.

I stayed in last night, and I am contemplating going out tonight. It's a Saturday night, after all, and my Civ V game is, as you may recall, bogging down in the early 1800's.

So I might go out, and I might have a drink and I might sing a song. And I will be confident that I won't mess up too badly unless my voice craps out and/or my Rohypnol immunity wears off (I get so many roofies in my drinks that it's funny (like date rape jokes, period)). I sing lots and lots of songs (to the point where I am nonplussed when people ask me what I sing) and part of that is to change it up and to challenge myself a bit.

But... sometimes I mess up. I pick a song I haven't heard in a while. I might pick a song that is a bad key for me, or demands too much rock-and-roll voice for me to handle. I might even pick a song where  I know the first three words, the chorus, and the final eight words--with MAYBE ten words intermingled elsewhere.

I sang "Uncle Tom's Cabin" once... and it was a disaster. I was too drunk to figure it out but not drunk enough to not be embarrassed. I doubt anyone in the room cared at all (any more than they do when I do extremely well on a song) but... I still grimace at the thought of it and I remember it more than any single song I've sung well.

And that's the way of things, isn't it? I don't remember the times in law school where I cleverly answered the instructor's questions in spite of only having skimmed the readings and not attended the previous class--I remember the ONE time where I glanced at the casebook as the question was being posited and I got confused, in my answer to the professor and onlooking class, and stated that the losing side's position was the one accepted by the court.

I barely remember hitting five three pointers in the state playoffs. I remember (although, semi-thankfully, it's fading) missing a last-second shot that would have propelled us into the finals.

It's good, I suppose, that we (or at least I, since I can't be assured you have the same shared experiences here in the same way that I can regarding songs stuck in your head) don't only remember successes. Good and bad things are intermingled, and remembering only good stuff would lead to overconfidence and doom us to catastrophe as we blindly stumble into the next pratfall. We have butts, after all, for two reasons: to be ogled and to provide padding when we fall, and I am willing to make my next mistakes with my eyes wide open.

In the mean time, I have to listen to some more Warrant to cleanse it from my mind.