Throw the Music Hall Piano Down the Stairs
I've been waiting three months for this day. No, not the inauguration. No, not the "Not One Damn Dime" day. I've been waiting for the day when I can publicly reveal the song that has been going through my head every single working day for the last three months.
To catch you up, let me reproduce something that I wrote on October 26, 2004:
Self-Inflicted Torture
One of the systems that I access electronically requires that I change my password periodically. During the last password change, I based the new password on a particular song. Obviously I can't tell you the song or else you may be able to access the system. However, suffice it to say that the song is not a new song, and in fact sounds older than it actually is, with a music hall feel.
Problem: every time I access this system, I think of the song.
Problem: I access this system a lot.
Problem: that song is therefore going through my head for many of my waking hours.
Of course, I could change the password again, but it's troublesome to change passwords for this system. So I'll live with it until I'm forced to change...several months from now.
Argh.
Well, today I *had* to change my password. Now that the security threat is over, I can now reveal the name of the song that has been going through my head the last three months:
Monty Python's Eric The Half a Bee.
Half a bee, philosophically,
Must, ipso facto, half not be.
But half the bee has got to be
Vis a vis, its entity. D'you see?
But can a bee be said to be
Or not to be an entire bee
When half the bee is not a bee
Due to some ancient injury?
Singing...
La dee dee, one two three,
Eric the half a bee.
A B C D E F G,
Eric the half a bee.
Is this wretched demi-bee,
Half-asleep upon my knee,
Some freak from a menagerie?
No! It's Eric the half a bee!
Fiddle de dum, Fiddle de dee,
Eric the half a bee.
Ho ho ho, tee hee hee,
Eric the half a bee.
I love this hive, employee-ee,
Bisected accidentally,
One summer afternoon by me,
I love him carnally.
He loves him carnally,
Semi-carnally.
The end.
Cyril Connelly?
No; semi-carnally!
Oh.
Cyril Connelly.
[whistling]
The lyrics are actually fairly witty (even if I thought they were singing about Sean Connery), and the tune isn't bad as tunes go, but as I previously noted, this song is in an old music hall standard style. Picture your aunts and uncles with British accents and 1950s short hair standing 'round the piano, singing. You get the idea.
Self-inflicted torture indeed.
And no, my current system password is NOT based upon the Brian Wilson song "Til I Die"....
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