Jeri Smith-Ready: Kill. Me. Now.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Kill. Me. Now.

Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
I love my squeaky toy
Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
It makes me jump for joy

Someone on my greyhound listserv posted a link to this NPR bit about a hot new CD for dogs, called Songs to Make Dogs Happy. The above-quoted song, "Squeakey Deakey," is the #1 hit off this new CD. I wasn't aware there was a different Billboard chart for each species, but okay. I played this tune that's supposed to be all the rage with the Rovers to see what Meadow would do. Upon hearing the squeak toy sound effects scattered throughout the song, she immediately went to the back door. This could mean one of three things:

1) the song made her think of her rubber squeaky ball, which lives outside
2) the song made her think of other things that squeak when you bite them, like baby bunnies, which also live outside
3) she wanted to escape the clutches of this song before it devoured her sanity

While she isn't what I would call the world's most intelligent dog, I now credit her with possessing the survival instincts I so clearly lack, because all day this song has been jammed into a deep part of my brain where no neurosurgeon can safely venture.

I went to work and organized my boss's business expenses for tax season. Beneath the tapping of the spreadsheet-filling keyboard lurked

Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
Roll it on the ground
Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
I love that squeaky sound

I came home and over dinner discussed with my husband the political and philosophical ramifications of the Terry Schiavo case. Yet I felt detached from the conversation, because my mind couldn't grapple with the complex moral issues involved. It was too busy thinking

Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
Always makes me laugh
Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
Playing in the grass

And now I'm trying to write a particularly intense scene for my new book. The main character is alone in the forest on a vision quest-type experience. To give the scene the depth it deserves, I need to be in a state of spiritual awareness, a place of otherworldly serenity. But the Muzak player in the back corner of my head keeps churning out on infinite "Repeat,"

Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
I love to play along
Squeakey deakey (squeak squeak squeak)
I love to squeak the song

Go ahead. Listen to it. I dare you. You'll think, "Oh, that's cute" or silly, or whatever, yet you'll be compelled to hum along and finish the entire two minutes and thirty-four seconds. Then you'll turn it off and give it no more thought.

But just wait until 3:45 a.m., when you wake to get a drink of water or pay a visit to the loo.

It will be there.

Waiting.

Perhaps in a minor key....