I CAN'T GET YOU OUT OF MY MIND

DO DO DUNH! DO DUNH! DO DUNH! DO DO DUNH! DO DO DUNH DO DUNH! MY SHARONNA!!!

Someone had written a story for Runners World magazine back in the early eighties, complaining that they just could not get that song out of their head while jogging. Immediately after I read the column, "My Sharonna" became permanently etched in my own noggin for several years, while running or not.

Why is it that music takes such complete control of our subconscious mind? What makes a simple tune about a sexy girl dominate a man's feeble brain for thirty seconds of every hour of every day, week after week after week? As usual, I have a couple of theories to offer on this subject.

Mostly, popular music is feeling related. I vividly remember when a song called "The Duke Of Earl" came on the air sometime back in the early sixties. At the time I had a huge crush on a sweet little thing with blonde hair and blue eyes who didn't even know of my existence and by the time whoever sang it (my older brother will know the answer to this immediately) finished, I had big salty tears rolling down my cheeks. I guess it was because I realized that this girl would probably never "walk through my dukedom" or ever in fact "be my girl".

In addition to stirring up impossibly achey feelings regardless of lyrical content, songs simply remind us of our mortality. This has become increasingly evident as I edge further and further from that hot asphalt playground where I heard the "Duke Of Earl" tinnily playing from a friends transistor radio. Now, thanks to the miracle of color t.v. and very creative advertising, I have a more age-appropriate visualization to occupy my mind for almost every waking moment.

DA DA DA...DA DA DA DA DA...DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DA, DA DA DA DA!

The camera pans slowly right and shows a balding, pleasant looking old fella with dozens of liver spots speckling his shiny dome. He has a red napkin tucked into his shirt and is smiling very contentedly as he clutches a fork in his right hand, preparing to dig into a large, delicious looking slab of meat. A trumpet song from the forties provides background music.

An unseen woman begins to speak;

"Forty two years with this character", she says.

"The whining...my gosh all the whining", as the music continues play softly, "And the snoring! Every night with the snoring!!!"

"Forty two years with this character and yet...", (long pause)"He still loves me!"

The camera shows an equally lovable, elderly lady on the other side of the dinner table who finishes by saying, "Happy anniversary, darlin!".

Soon it will be time for this old timer to head for his bed. Somewhere in the space of my crammed up cranium, the haunting lyrics of at least two of my all time favorite songs and one t.v. commercial will echo endlessly as I search for sleep. I simply can't get them out of my mind.