SC: [...] If it’s accidentally on the radio and I don’t have time to change it, I just feel like that’s three minutes of my life I’m never going to get back again.
AVC: Closer to four.
SC: I’m banking on the DJ interrupting during the fadeout.
AVC: According to Wikipedia, De Burgh’s main inspiration was a realization he had that men don’t remember what women are wearing when they meet them. Deep, huh?
SC: And that’s it. That’s the subtext I guess: Guys don’t remember what chicks wear.
AVC: He later had an affair with his kids’ 19-year-old babysitter while his wife was recovering from a horseback-riding accident.
SC: Now if he said “Babysitter In Red,” that would have made it a much more interesting song. I’m thinking maybe he shouldn’t be looking at her. All of a sudden there’s a weakness there, a human frailty and a little dysfunction going on. “Babysitter In Sweatpants,” I’d listen to that. I’d like to see the lyrics for that.
But way leads to way and we suddenly discover an interpreter to challenge ONJ's claim to utter supremacy.
I'm not sure I've ever laughed so hard at the very first millisecond of a video's visual. But then the camerawork somehow, impossibly, took it to an even higher level, as the split image makes the ghosted microphone look like he's wearing a shirt with pirate cuffs. And props also too whatever funeral home allowed them to film this masterpiece there. Hopefully he's not singing this to the recently dearly beloved deceased.
I've never seen an 11-year-old singing CPA before, but homeboy absolutely brings it; his humming alone should make Paul McCartney green with envy, and his pronunciation of "romahnce" may have been what killed Laurence Olivier. Meanwhile, I'd seriously squish ducklings for his hair.
Well played, player. Well played. Here's hoping this helped you land the social studies teacher of your dreams.