*teenagers* by *my chemical romance*

They’re gonna clean up your looks
With all the lies and the books
To make a citizen out of you
Because they sleep with a gun
And keep an eye on you son
So they can watch all the things you do

Because the drugs never work
They’re gonna give you a smirk
‘Cause they got methods of keepin’ you clean
They’re gonna rip up your heads
Your aspirations to shreds
Another cog in the murder machine

They said all teenagers scare
The living shit out of me
They could care less
As long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes
Or strike a violent pose
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me

The boys and girls in a clique
The awful names that they stick
You’re never gonna fit in much, kid
But if you’re troubled and hurt
What you got under your shirt
Will make them pay for the things that they did

They said all teenagers scare
The living shit out of me
They could care less

As long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes
Or strike a violent pose
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me

Ohhh yeah!

They said all teenagers scare
The living shit out of me
They could care less
As long as someone’ll bleed
so darken your clothes
Or strike a violent pose
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me

All together now!

Teenagers scare
The living shit out of me
They could care less
As long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes
Or strike a violent pose
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me

Teenagers scare
The living shit out of me
They could care less
As long as someone’ll bleed
So darken your clothes
Or strike a violent pose
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me

on this day in 1981

Yesterday marked 16 years since the death of Bob Marley. Now, I’ve always liked Marley at least as much as any girl who grew up in suburban New York. Legend was a required acquisition when I was in high school, and I imagine that it still is. But — as that taste was an affected fashion not unlike the concurrent phenomenon of little girls wearing Grateful Dead t-shirts — this is still a day that would have passed without my remarking it at all, had I not been here in Grenada.

Much more interesting than the fact that I heard Buffalo Soldier on the radio FOUR TIMES yesterday is that there is, apparently, a bit of conspiracy theory surrounding Bob Marley’s death. Not quite full-blown Oliver Stone-style conspiracy theory, but conspiracy theory nonetheless. When I hear that some people think Marley’s fatal cancer was in fact something more sinister and less natural, I am reminded of some of the wackier theories surrounding the JFK assasination.

Anyway, go ahead and google “bob marley conspiracy theory”. Or “bob marley foot cancer cia”.

Or — if and only if you’re looking for a real kick — google “david icke”. Icke is HILARIOUS; he has this theory that the Bush family and a whole bunch of other powerful/influential members of society are actually shape-shifting reptilian aliens from the fourth dimension. It’s so ludicrous I doubt even he takes it seriously. He’s got the imagination of a genius schizophrenic; it’s irrelevant mind candy at its very best.

i’m the one who can feel the sun, right in the pouring rain

Ain’t got no regrets
And I ain’t losin’ track
Of which way I’m going
Ain’t gonna double back
Don’t want no misplay
Put on no display
An angel? no!
But I know my way
I used follow
Yeah, that’s true
But my following days are over
Now I just gotta follow through
I remember what my father said
He said “Son, life is simple”
It’s either cherry red or…
Midnight Blue…
Oh…
Midnight Blue…
Oh…
You were the restless one
And you did not care
That I was the trouble boy
Lookin’ for a double dare
I won’t apologize for
The things I’ve done and said
But when I win your heart,
I’m gonna paint it cherry red
I don’t want to talk about it
What you do to me
I can’t live without it
And you might think that
It’s much too soon
For us to go this far
Into the…
Midnight Blue . . .
Things could be different
But that’d be a shame, ’cause
I’m the one who could feel the sun
Right in the pouring rain
I won’t say where
And I don’t know when
But soon there’s gonna come a day
I’ll be back again
Yeah, I’ll be back for you

i’m the one who can feel the sun, right in the pouring rain

Ain’t got no regrets
And I ain’t losin’ track
Of which way I’m going
Ain’t gonna double back
Don’t want no misplay
Put on no display
An angel? no!
But I know my way
I used follow
Yeah, that’s true
But my following days are over
Now I just gotta follow through
I remember what my father said
He said “Son, life is simple”
It’s either cherry red or…
Midnight Blue…
Oh…
Midnight Blue…
Oh…
You were the restless one
And you did not care
That I was the trouble boy
Lookin’ for a double dare
I won’t apologize for
The things I’ve done and said
But when I win your heart,
I’m gonna paint it cherry red
I don’t want to talk about it
What you do to me
I can’t live without it
And you might think that
It’s much too soon
For us to go this far
Into the…
Midnight Blue . . .
Things could be different
But that’d be a shame, ’cause
I’m the one who could feel the sun
Right in the pouring rain
I won’t say where
And I don’t know when
But soon there’s gonna come a day
I’ll be back again
Yeah, I’ll be back for you

happy vernal equinox!

There are so few reasons to love Tuesdays.  That’s one of myriad reasons I’m so thankful for The New York Times Science Section.  Yesterday, they ran a piece that starts:

Some animals are surprisingly sensitive to the plight of others.  Chimpanzees, who cannot swim, have drowned in zoo moats trying to save others.  Given the chance to get food by pulling a chain that would also deliver an electric shock to a companion, rhesus monkeys will starve themselves for several days.  (Geeks like me may read the whole article at http://nytimes.com/2007/03/20/science/20moral.html.)

Doesn’t that just bring a tear to your eye?

I post about this for several reasons.

I ranted yesterday and I’m feeling sheepish about that, so I want something nice and warm and fuzzy for counterbalance.  (Note to self:  limit caffeine consumption!)

I am intrigued by this evidence of altruism in primates.  It makes me smile.  It also makes me wonder if conscious thought rendered us selfish.  I suppose it would have to.  Right?  The very same rugged individualism that sets us apart also makes us a bunch of jerks . . . or something like that.  At the very least, it supports or even confirms my suspicions regarding notions of so-called progress.

I figure I might as well out myself as a reader of The New York Times.  (Sorry, Dad!)

And, last but certainly not least . . . I just plain adore monkeys!  It’s like that BNL tune, If I Had a Million Dollars.  The chorus goes: 

If I had a million dollars, I’d build a tree fort in our yard

If I had a million dollars, you could help it wouldn’t be that hard

If I had a million dollars, maybe we could put like a little tiny fridge in there somewhere

To me, that’s just the sweetest thing.

The monkey reference is this:

If I had a million dollars . . . well, I’d buy you a monkey – haven’t you always wanted a monkey?

See me?  I have always wanted a monkey.  I can’t explain why.  Doesn’t EVERYONE want a monkey?