The Caustic Chords Of Memory

My radio woke me up this morning telling me that at 1:17 (or was it 1:16--I was a bit groggy) this afternoon, summer arrives. Now I'm sure there's some scientific reason why summer suddenly "arrives" in the middle of a hot and muggy and stormy day (a couple weeks tardy, I'd argue; seems like we've been hot and muggy and stormy for a few weeks now), but I don't understand such precision. Anyway, after being informed of this seasonal change, I leapt out of bed thinking, damn, only a few hours to get my spring cleaning done! After surveying the rugged landscape of my rented room, I realized there aren't enough hours in the day, even the year's longest, to adequately get the job done. But then, as the radio was telling me for the umpteenth time about some concoction that would make my nights pee-free and even improve my "intimacy," I hit upon the spring cleaning chore of the day: psychic spring cleaning via a media cleanse.

Now I admit I probably listen to more radio than the average person, due to the fact that I live without a television and that my car's tape deck (yes, the auto I drive is rather quaintly vintage) is on permanent Fritz. Hence, my intimate familiarity with "radio jingles." But even though I've lived without daily access to a television for most of the past twenty years, I still have "TV jingles" from thirty and forty years ago emblazoned on my brain. The other night I kind of wowed some fellow Trivial Pursuit players with my trivial memory. "Do you have a photographic memory?" one of the players, I can't remember which, asked. No, but I think I have an audio recorder memory. Naturally that night I dreamed an ugly dream: I was 117-years-old and some Cub Scouts had come to the assisted living (sic) home and asked me what it was like to live back in the olden days. All I could sputter was "Two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun."

Thus, to ward off such an old man's fate and to get some spring cleaning done in the waning minutes of spring '11, I'm going to attempt a media cleanse right here via the medium of blogging. Maybe if I just vomit out these jingles and ad taglines onto this eternal, genuinely world wide platform, I can rid my mind of them once and for all. Why not, hunh? If this will get that stupid copier song out of my noggin and implanted in yours half as naggingly as it is in mine, I'll be ready to greet summer with all the fresh effervesence it allegedly deserves. So here you go, media mulch for the taking. And as we used to say on the playground, no backs.

• "A perfect place to rest your ash."
• "Calgon, take me away."
• "WIXY 1260!"
• "By.... MENnen."
• "If you dare wear short shorts Nair for short shorts."
• "Garfield one, two three two three, Garfield one, two three two three."
• "One man sleeps while the other man drives."
• "If you, or someone you know, needs some fast cash now..."
• "See the USA in a C. Miller Chevrolet." Smooch.
• "...Not just another...COPier COMpany!"
• "Thanks for the gumball, Mickey!"
• "Stuffing? I'm staying!"
• "You're soaking in it."
• "If you haven't seen Higbee's today, you haven't seen Higbee's today."
• "And every nineteen minutes, the place goes CRAzy!"
• "When you're thinkin' thinkin' Lincoln, better carpeting for less, dial National two nine thousand, National two nine (ring) THOUsand."
• "Five eight eight, two three hundred, Empire."
• "Call one eight hundred two six seven two thousand and one, one eight hundred two six seven two thousand and one, aLARM FORCE!"
• "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids."
• "Ho ho ho, Green Giant."

Hey, something just popped up in my right eye, telling me I've freed up 1.7 MB of disk space. Bring on summer.