He can listen to (and sing) bluegrass and pop-bluegrass and folk and classical and ’80s pop and classic rock all day long, but if you try to play him Spongebob Squarepants, he puts his hands over his ears.

Good taste at four years old is hard to come by.

My parents are in town and I’m basically waiting to see how Thompson does in South Carolina and not thinking about much else in politics or news, so enjoy, once again, the Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain.

In which SeeDub teaches us what it means to raise your Ebenezer.

He picked his church for the scripture and got lousy music; I picked mine for the hymn-based music and got … much less scripture.

But I also got a handbell choir that will play this very hymn later this spring, and I can listen to any number of Bible-based sermons on the web. And I recently was made aware, to my astonishment, that there is one elder in my church who is willing to stand up, in Sunday service, in context of a sermon on peace, at the invitation of the pastor, and say publicly that the United States is not imperialist and that the time to prioritize peace is before our troops go into the field. And that after that we need to be supporting their efforts all the way to victory.

Right on.

Son, singing a song we’d listened to in the car while running errands: “God spoke to Moses from a burning book, burning book, burning book…”

Me: “No, honey, it’s burning bush. God spoke to Moses from a burning bush.”

Son: …

Son: “God was hiding in the bushes.”

Update: Conversation of the Day, Part 2:

Son, wailing at bedtime: “I want to read in my room!!!”

Mom, after a couple glasses of cabernet: “Okay. Fifteen minutes.”

Daddyman, whose job it is to put the boy to bed: “Fifteen minutes! You certainly do have a lenient mother.”

Son: “Where?”

My college roommate and her husband are celebrating ten years today. Their first dance at their reception was to Billy Joel’s “This Night,” and I played the Beethoven Joel ripped it off from, Sonata Pathetique, second movement, as a prelude to the ceremony. Happy anniversary!

I get a big kick out of this movie, as campy as it is. Can’t say I would ever have thought of making a tribute video, however.

I applied to IU but was accepted to Butler early and never even auditioned at Indiana. If they’d had these guys back then I might have tried a little harder:

Thanks to Bumble.

This has to be one of the best of that specification: “You Can’t Take it with You When You Go,” by Rhonda Vincent and the Rage. Not too needy, not too tough: You can change your mind, but it’s a limited-time offer.

Watch where you’re standin’
When you close that door
‘Cause if you’re on the wrong side
It won’t open any more.
Be sure before you leave me
That it’s the only way
Take off your coat and think about
What I’m about to say.

(Chorus:)
I gave you my heart
I gave you my soul, completely
You’ve got my dreams;
You’ve got everything that I’ll need if you leave me alone.
I’ll give you my love
For the rest of my life
But I want to make sure you know:
You can’t take it with you when you go.

I hear what you’re saying
But I don’t believe it’s you
Tellin’ me that it’s all over
After all that we’ve been through.
If you’ve found a new love
Then just tell me so
And I’ll make it easy
So she’ll never know.

Chorus

YouTube has somebody’s image-string video, which somewhat stunningly has a shot of Captain Mal and River Tam in it, to go with it:

And something a little more cheerful and kick-ass, from the band’s appearance at the 2007 River City Bluegrass Festival here in Portland (I didn’t see that show but I saw them at River City in 2006), Kentucky Borderline. She has some of the best in her band:

Why are the Eagles selling their new album exclusively through Wal-Mart? Not that I mind, but it doesn’t seem to track with Henley’s annoying politics. Maybe those are only about speech, as in his and his fellow performers’, and not about his money, though.

Oh, and here’s a hint, Don: It ain’t “debate,” civil or otherwise, when people pay to hear you sing and you treat them to your views without them being able to “debate” back. See how that works?

“Given what my good friend Linda Ronstadt —” Henley started telling the crowd, but he was cut down as the audience erupted in boos, reports the Orange County Register. Henley responded: “Whoops — Orange County, we used to be able to have civil debate in this country. Not anymore.”

If concerts were supposed to be give-and-take, I’d have been on stage with both Billy Joel and James Taylor by now, politics be damned.

Great voice, silenced.

By coincidence I had just ordered a recording of his Turandot, inspired by The Bean’s sudden interest in opera after hearing some Carmen on the radio and by the amazing rendition of “Nessun Dorma” by the amateur on Britain’s Got Talent.

The discs arrived yesterday. We’ll be listening to Pavarotti today. RIP.

See?

I told you.

Was the Hamster Dance always to Roger Miller’s Robin Hood music?

Cool.

Aside, the people who made this video have one heck of a DVD collection.

H/t Bookworm Room.

… check out this surprisingly serious, sad, sweet little Ernest number from Ernest Goes to Camp. Yeah, you read that right. I saw it as a teenager, and even though over-the-top physical comedy isn’t my thing, I’m quite sure the user comment at IMDB is correct that it’s the funniest of the Ernest movies. Battered, pathetic Jim Varney is credible and lovable here as the fallen hero, and the song itself is so catchy that I spent literally years with a fragment floating in and out of my mind from time to time … “Gee, I’m glad it’s rainin’ … now dammit, how does the rest of that song go?” I thought I’d never find out, because I didn’t really want to know badly enough to rent an Ernest movie. Behold the wonders of YouTube for reviving sad songs from the zany-movie genre.

Jim Varney died of lung cancer in 2000. He was a funny guy who did some very good things:

When given the chance to have a lifelong dream fulfilled by such groups as the Make-A-Wish Foundation, several hundred terminally ill children have asked to meet Ernest. He never let them down.

RIP, Slinky Dog.