Musical Madness

ALL ACROSS this frothy bowl of milk and cornflakes we call our nation, millions of average Americans are twitching and hopping as they stroll down our streets, mouths silently opening and closing, little pockets of drool collecting on their shirt-fronts. Hygienic concerns aside, just what the hell is wrong with these people? Disease? Demonic possession? Gastro-intestinal cramps?

No--these bopping, jerking, lip-syncing neighbors of you and me are cultural, not medical, victims. They create and live in their own walkman-world, in which cars and people seem to bounce to the same beat that's pulsating through their earphones. Or they click the radio right--snap--at the end of a good song, letting the rhythm and sync linger in their minds for the rest of the day. They're trying to create personal soundtracks to shape and pace their lives. But they need help.

All those screen folks we're emulating had their soundtracks specially superimposed upon their make-believe lifestyles. But you, poor thing, are cruising around with Papa Don't Preach strewing its irrelevant pop-Catholic message through your culturally-raped brain. Depersonalized top 40 is not the way to apply musical direction to a meaningless life.

NONE OF THESE songs is really about you, here now, at this University. After all, who would waste his time creating songs for smug Harvard undergrads?

So now as a special public service, a few soundtracks specially geared to the Harvard lifestyle. These songs are the product of those early Dorm Crew mornings when, bored with bashing my howling vacuum cleaner into your hallway doors, I begin to long desparately to be someone else.

So ladies annna gennalman, for your-a lissenan' a-pleasure...an anthem to all Ec majors and other Wall Street types, to the tune of Steve Martin's hit performance of "You'll Be a Dentist":

(ba-boomba-boom) When I was just an undergrad

(ba-boomba-boom) My roommates noticed funny quirks I had Like suckin' up to wealthy alums Mockin' folks who lived in the slums

(brief dramatic pause--the roommates speak:)

Someday...you'll find a way

To make your natural tendencies pay...

You'll go to the Beeee-school

You'll cheat and exploit the poor

You'll go to the Beeee-school

You'll become a corporate whore

And a-next, after this-a Polydent commurshal...for those aspiring politicos choking the sidewalks in front of the K-school, to the tune of the Rocky Horror theme song:

Ronald Reagan was ill

When Iran paid the bill

He didn't know about

The secret plan

And Nancy was there in silver evening wear

Ollie North was the Invisible Man

I hope something goes wrong

For the reaction'ry throng

That they get caught in a secular jam

Or from network space

At a deadly pace

This is how the message will scan...

Armageddon...B-movie feature

The American Public...will elect a preacher...

woah-ah-ah-oh-ah-oh...

Or for crew jocks:

Row, row, row my boat gently down the Charles

Go out to a party later, hope to meet some garls

(chorus) Duh.

The supply of these ditties is endless. For any masochists yearning for repeat performances, show up at Mather's low rise at 7:30 any morning. I'll be maliciously singing over the grinding howl of my trusty battering-ram vacuum cleaner--rise and shine, folks, it's a musical world out there.