Waiting for Gouda

The stupid music project continues.

Here’s a few more inane observations:

1) I think I have, to this point, criminally under-appreciated the Foo Fighters.

2) You haven’t lived until you’ve listened to 15 straight minutes of I Am A Man of Constant Sorrow.  That’s four versions: two by the Soggy Bottom Boys, one by Norman Blake (guitar instrumental), and one by John Hartford (violin instrumental, although perhaps you’d want to call it a fiddle instrumental given the source film’s milieu, although maybe not because it is a rather slow and almost mournful arrangement, not at all like a hoedown, although maybe you would because you can still really easily imagine the soloist wearing overalls and sipping from a jug, or maybe that’s just the affect of having already listened to the cotton-pickin’ thing three times in a row).

3) Cyndi Lauper has a greatest hits album.  Think about that for a minute.  Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Now consider that this album is, inexplicably, on my iPod.  This disturbing fact has caused me some serious pain, and has me re-evaluating my entire life, intermittently, for about four minutes at a time.

Also, did you know that “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” has a remix version?  It’s true.  You realize that this means that at least a couple people honestly thought that one version of this song just wasn’t enough.

And this remix totally snuck up on me.  It doesn’t appear back-to-back alphabetically in my little scheme, thereby letting me suffer through nine minutes of hell and then putting that portion of my life behind me forever.  Oh, no.

The remix is called “Hey Now (Girls Just Wanna Have Fun)”, so you can guess which particularly irritating lyrical flourish from the original has been brought ever so artfully into the spotlight.  The title also means that, if you’re some kind of idiot who, for reasons unknown even to yourself, are forcing yourself to listen to your iPod in alphabetical order, your irregular heart rate and nervous twitching are just beginning to subside from the original version as you’ve slogged through the remaining G’s when the goddamned remix jumps up and smacks you in the nuts some hours later.

Screw you, Cyndi Lauper.  Screw you.