A problem worse than Bonnie Tyler. (You heard me.) - Macleans.ca
 

A problem worse than Bonnie Tyler. (You heard me.)


 

I’ve come to you for help before, kind reader.

Some of you will recall – possibly with full-body shudders and theatrical flashbacks – the grim details of my darkest hour, when I confessed to an enraptured blogosphere that I was utterly incapable of getting Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart out of my head.

For days the song lingered there – hounding me, torturing me, reminding me time and again that forever’s gonna start tonight. [Brief pause.] Forevvvvver’s gonna start tonight.

With your help, I tried repeatedly to dislodge the song but it had grabbed onto my subconscious like nothing since that 1979 photo of Kristy McNichol in short shorts. I deployed the usual countermeasures: trying to sing other annoyingly catchy songs; trying to sing other annoyingly catchy songs from the same era (several people overheard me at Loblaws – does this mean I owe royalties to Kim Carnes?); theme songs; jingles; masturbation. Nothing worked. (With the benefit of hindsight, I see now that it was counterproductive to masturbate to the image of Bonnie Tyler.)

Eventually, after almost a week of effort, frustration and my seven-year-old son singing the chorus to Funkytown, I regained power of attorney over my mental synapses. Victory was mine.

But victory, like Bonnie Tyler’s mastery of the pop charts, was short-lived. The menace of Bonnie Tyler had been bested, but now there is a new nemesis – more insidious, more debilitating, more… Italian.

Ladies and gentlemen, as God is my witness it has been four days now and I cannot get out of my head the 1981 novelty song Shaddap You Face.

Eating Apple Jacks this morning and… whassamatta you – hey!

Making the bed this morning and… It’s-a not so bad, it’s-a nice-a place!

Damn you, Joe Dolce.

Damn you and your controlling mother to hell.


 
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A problem worse than Bonnie Tyler. (You heard me.)

  1. Damn Joe Dolce, his controlling mother and Igarvin to hell.

    • Well, we're even then… I've been Googling "Kristy McNicol short shorts" for hours now…

  2. I feel your pain, Feschuk. I had Gerardo's Rico Suave playing in my mind last week but, fortunately, it was quickly replaced by Ida Maria's I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked. Great chorus – even had my 7 year old nephew singing it on weekend but his mother was not appreciative. Why would you like someone better when they are naked, mommy?

  3. Ah, Scott, perhaps you need some professional help.

    Talk to a therapist, lie down on the the couch and when he says, "So Mr. Feschuk, wassamattayou?", you'll be almost there.

  4. Don't feel bad, I'm so suggestible that I can't even watch The Wire without falling into gangsta slang. "Pick up those towels and clean up that bathroom… ya feel me?"

  5. You should have gotten the Dolce/Sayle vaccination while you had the chance.

  6. But I was told to wait until it was administered to high-risk individuals, like Dr. Demento

    • I used to put it off too, or not bother at all, until that awful bout of Pac Man Fever nearly killed me.

  7. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTwNYjwbwag

    This one pretty much dominated my mental activities for the past two weeks.

    Trying to get the kids dressed up….Giddy up Gene!

  8. About 10 years ago, I was hit with what I call a phase: every vacant thought that went through my head had the tune of the first line of Riders on the Storm accompanying it:

    Time to make some lunch. do do.

    Kitty on the lawn, do do.

    Boy I have to pee, do do.

    Touch me there right now, do do.

    It went away on its own, but I was considering it was time to "get some ther-a-py, do do….

    • I hate MJ Patchouli, do do.

      Cuz now I'm doing this too, do do.

      But doing it to Shaddup You Face, do do.

      what's-a-matta you, do do

    • I like escargot. I am glad at least one person did not learn that valuable lesson.

    • Snort, I remember that one. It IS weird, now that I'm an adult, and I confess, until today I had no idea what the message was. Ah, well it was a gentler time, less accomplished at focus testing kids.

      The "brother" plays guitar a lot like Danny Partridge.

      Also if this gets stuck in my head, Sophia…

    • That was a PSA? When I was in catholic school it was curriculum.

  9. Geeze, did the Catholics come up with that one?

  10. I've given this some serious thought. While the obvious solution would be to find another musical ear worm to replace the current one, I think this particular malady requires specialized medicine. The combination of music AND bad ethinc stereotyping is not easy to dislodge.

    However, with apologies to the people of Leutonia, I recommend a steady of diet of cabbage rolls and coffee for the next day, and repeated viewings of the following:

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYQ3wUCsXuk

  11. Five words – Rolf Harris, Six White Boomers

    <object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gosGBYU5vIE&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gosGBYU5vIE&hl=en&fs=1&&quot; type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>

  12. Five words – Rolf Harris, Six White Boomers

  13. The only two recommendations I have are either watch Michael Jackson's "This Is It" until everyone looks African American or listen to Dinosaur Jr.'s "Detachable Penis".

    I woke up this morning.
    My penis was missing again.
    It happens all the time.