Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 54
Zoom zoom zoom, we’re going to the moon. Zoom zoom zoom, we’ll get there very soon. Five, four, three, two, one. Blast off!
|I do not know this song.|
|I have occasionally heard this song.|
|I know this song well.|
|I grew up with this song.|
|I know another version of this song. (Explain in the comments, please.)|
Local groups have occasionally sung this one. This weekend, we toured a nursery, where the words were the caption on all the childrens' rocket ship images. I'm suddenly wondering if the song will be inescapable for under-5s with rocket ships.
This year's trends: Casually apocalyptic lyrics. Songs in country-native languages. (I doubt it's the rise of national pride; I think it's because lots of countries don't want the expense of hosting the contest.) They're a tame bunch of videos overall, compared to most years.
The song that keeps earworming me: Malta - Gianluca - Tomorrow
A song I really like: Belgium - Roberto Bellarosa - Love Kills
Best "let's improve humanity" song: Russia - Dina Garipova - What If
Best Les Miserables derivative: Denmark - Emmelie de Forest - Only Teardrops
Best cinematography: Iceland - Eythor Ingi- Ég Á Líf
Most amusing video: Greece - Koza Mostra feat. Agathon Iakovidis - Alcohol Is Free
Best video to watch without sound: Ukraine - Zlata Ognevich - Gravity
( This year's Eurovision videos...Collapse )
On the other hand, the emphasis just generally with most these song/rhyme groups is in teaching children from an early age to have common cultural capital, rather than actual musicality or an interest in music. The sort of thing that might (should the song ever come up, which it thus far hasn't) lead them to understand why the "Old Lady" in Little Inferno is subtitled "Perhaps she'll die."
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 57
Row, row, row your boat...
|Life is but a dream|
|If you see a crocodile/don't forget to scream|
|Gently with the tide/to the other side|
|Throw your teacher overboard/and watch your teacher scream|
|Something else, to be mentioned in comments|
I grew up with the bare minimum of "life is but a dream", with the occasional schoolyard bonus of throwing one's teacher overboard.
Here, the crocodile second verse is mandatory, but somewhat boggling in the way it's worded. What would happen if one absent-mindedly forgot to scream? It's like a bored tourist with a rote travel itinerary: Rowed boat? Check. Saw crocodile? Check. Screamed? Oh, what a waste, I totally forgot to do that.
The crocodile verse, on less frequent occasions, can also lead to lots of other animal variants. ("gently down the river/if you see a polar bear/don't forget to shiver")
The "tide" version I've heard a couple of times, but always at the same place, in a recording.
Would men have "nibbled"? Or is the author emphasizing dainty feminine eating?
What does "bread pudding" connotate for US readers? Is it exotically British? Is it homely and comforting? Is it currently trendy? I have no idea.
Is "nibbled" even a good verb for a squishy dish? I was so uncertain that I turned to Webster's second international for help. (The answer is that yes, of course one can nibble on bread pudding. It's not a drink.)
A "nib" is, among its other meanings, a synonym for a handle on a snath. A snath can also be a snead. But, just to be confusing, a snead can also be a whipsocket. Happily, a whipsocket is exactly what it sounds like it should be: a socket for a whip.
All that was from a dictionary, but an online post clarified the relationship between snath and snead:
The scythe, without the blade is the Snath
The snath without the handles is a Snead
The handle on the sneed which make it a snath so it can become a scythe
is a Thole.
So a nib can be a thole, at least when it's on a snath?
Somehow, I doubt the grain which went that senatorial bread pudding was harvested by using the snath of a scythe. But the Senators tholed the pudding (since "thole" is also a verb meaning "to endure"), and hopefully enjoyed it too.
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 74
The Wheels on the Bus go round and round [repeat]... What is the last line, repeated every verse?
|All through the town|
|All around the town|
|All Day Long|
|Something else, to be described in the comments|
Wikipedia describes "The Wheels on the Bus" as a mid-20th century anonymous folk song, with three different possible last lines, repeated every verse.
I grew up with "The Wheels on the Bus" going round and round "all through the town". In retrospect, it seems a song of exploration, checking out the variety of humanity which occupies the wide expanse of the town's many neighborhoods, and thus might also be found on the bus, combined with the inevitable annoyance of fellow passengers and a repetitious song. It's a song from the perspective of a cross-town passenger, in which (as I learned it) the driver on the bus features in the inevitable second verse (saying "Move on Back"), thus clearly marking him/her as yet another character, if one of particular interest, to be encountered when exploring by bus.
Where I am now, everyone knows the last line as "all day long", which transforms it into a song about the weariness of a bus driver's long, long work day, and makes me think of transport unions and labor laws. I keep wanting to know if it was ever used as a picketing song for a transport union. The variety of humanity is now for the bus driver to be endured, rather than to be explored from the perspective of a passenger. Indeed, in none of the (many, many) times I have now heard it around here has the driver ever featured as a character within the song, leaving him/her excluded (at least, in my expectation of hearing that verse), an observer throughout that long, long work day.
That last line entirely recontextualizes the song for me.
We arrived just in time to crowd in at the back, turning into the road just after the procession bearing the coffin, lead with stately stride by a man in a tall hat and cane. The church is surrounded by the start of a building site; this isn't the only event it's held too large for its current limits.
I knew Rhys from York. He wasn't a student there, but might as well have been one. CM, his wife, had a complementary class schedule with his, such that they could commute up and down the length of the country together each week. He was already sure in his Anglican faith then, a faith which had wavered for years between his missionary upbringing in the south Pacific and his calling to become a minister. He was tall, long-haired, tattoo'd, and loved motorcycles. Eventually, years before I met him, he heard his God tell him, "100% or nothing". And that's what he gave.
The service was structured around the story of his life, with slides collaged to document and bring back memories of his life from childhood destruction of flower beds to their wedding to scenes from his life as vicar. He was a funny, smart, intelligent man, appreciative of how little he fit the stereotype of his calling. (At the end of the service, the bishop sending Rhys to his rest apologized for being a perfectly ordinary bishop.) As Uncle Rhys to his cousin's children, he played variants on tag (one version transformed them into were-cows); introduced them to heavy metal; appreciated their uniquenesses as teenagers when some felt they didn't fit in. As a father, he build sandcastles and told stories. He gave the best hugs. Apparently he never did hold a license, despite his motorcycle-loving and riding ways!
Rhys died of leukemia, four months after his initial diagnosis of it. He was only forty-four.
CM led us through the structure of the story, with other relatives and friends telling their own parts of it. It was poignant and funny and bittersweet. He'd requested that attendees wear silly hats to the service, and his family especially followed his request. We sang together, voices four-hundred-or-so strong creating glorious sound through powerpoint and the church's live band.
And then the chairs were rearranged and tables and food laid out and drinks, and we talked with old friends and Grouting explored and we met new people and celebrated a life well - if all too, too briefly - lived.
Round and round the garden
Like a teddy bear.
One step, two step,
Tickle you under there!
Why and how do teddy bears go round and round gardens? What are they doing out there? Do they live in particular kinds of gardens? Is it where they live when they're not off having picnics in the woods?
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 94
Are you familiar with this rhyme?
|Yes, since childhood.|
|Yes, since adulthood.|
|No, it is not familiar to me.|
Or rather, "learned as an adult".
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 81
Song: Wind the bobbin up.
|It's a song.|
|It's a nursery rhyme.|
|Is that still sung?|
|A regular feature of my childhood.|
|Not a regular feature of my childhood.|
|Never heard of it.|
|I wound actual bobbins when I was a child.|
|I wound actual bobbins when I was a child while singing this song.|
You may sense a theme in recent polls.
Edited to add: Early days yet on this poll, but given the song's ubiquitousness in local baby-oriented singalongs around here, I thought it was a standard feature of English childhood which C (who's from Lancs.) had just happened to miss out on. I'm glad I asked since it may be either fairly recent or relatively local. I await further data.
The books I was returning today were an anemic lot, plot-wise. Loveabye Dragon had lovely illustrations, but was a more-or-less by-the-book romance story, with a dragon swapped in for the knight. Leon and the Place Between had lush and elegant images as an excuse for a faint bit of plot. I only heard Zebra's Hiccups from the next room, while doing dishes, so can't really pass judgement. When judging books by their cover, I shouldn't be surprised if the artwork is often the best part.
I took Grouting back today to try again (and to have left the house at some point today). I picked three on glancing acquaintanceship and took them to the self-service checkout machine. One was an "Object Unknown", to be taken to the desk.
The librarian swiped little Grouting's library card and then tried the book, but again nothing. Inside the front cover, as he found when he opened it, the book was stamped "Withdrawn". "It was misfiled. It should have been on the for-sale rack, but it's only something like 10 pence." And then he gave it to us. I've paid enough late fees over the years to this system that I was entirely happy to accept.
We sat down and read her newest book tonight. Baby Brains: The Smartest Baby in the World is a delightful bit of science fiction, a nicely balanced tale of an impossibly smart baby who's earned his MD by about two weeks of age and ends up in outer space. Not only did I do better in picking library books this time around, but one of them, quite a good one, is unexpectedly for keeps.