Procrastinators don't have a patron saint...yet

A long time ago, when I had friends who were alternative radio DJs (they are now housewives & investment bankers - go figure),  I got this song stuck in my head.

I should say first that I am not one to be plagued by things like this.  I did once follow James Thurber's direction to say Perth Amboy over & over again until it became meaningless, but this did not take much time as I had to look up Perth Amboy to give it any meaning before I began.  So I said Perth Amboy Perth Amboy Perth Amboy & then I was done.  When Perth Amboy comes up in conversation (which is not often), I giggle for no apparent reason but I'm OKay.  I don't get lost in a vortex of meaningless syllables.  Mostly I automatically resist these kind of brain glitches in general; if you tell me NOT to think of a purple elephant I can say "fine" & then not think of one.  Not even for a moment.

But this song got stuck in my head.  Maybe I should back up.  I had this other friend -  I don't think this one ever met the others, but I swear none of them are imaginary - & she played STUDIO Dead.  Not the meandering live stuff that puts me to sleep but what Garcia et al laid down in the studio that may or may not have served as a jumping off point for whatever it was they played when they were on the road.  She listened to actual Grateful Dead albums; no joke until I met her I had no idea there were albums.  & because she played the albums, because the songs were performed exactly the same over & over (because we were listening to a clean, clear studio performance over & over), I got to know the words.  I would be exaggerating if I said I didn't know there were words, but anyone who has ever been trapped in a room with people listening to Grateful Dead bootlegs would agree it was possible to think the words had no real meaning.  I never thought about it until this moment but I but they could be saying Perth Amboy over & over again & it would all sound pretty much the same.

Among the many Grateful Dead songs I learned the words to was Truckin'.  This is a funny song.  It has one of my favorite lyrics of any song:  I'd like to get some sleep before I travel, but if you've got a warrant, I guess you're gonna come in.  I really didn't mind learning the words.  I enjoy the iambic pentameter at the top of the line & the breakdown that followed.  I could sing them in the shower.  Or not.  As I liked.

Then along came the Pop-o-pies.  What I am trying to say is the Pop-o-pies are like musical herpes, they wrap around your brain stem &amp well, they corrupt what you used to enjoy.   Unfortunately, I had more than one friend who thought they were brilliant (on the other hand, I just learned the LATimes  said they were the worst band in California, so who you gonna believe the LATimes & all their baggage or a former alternative music DJ who married an american auto company engineer & began having babies, no judgement). I included the link to their cover of Truckin' above (use at your own risk) but cannot find the song that drieves me out of my mind:  The Pop O Rap.  Search at your own risk.


Well, I guess I have stalled long enough.  Today's saint is Poppo.  He looks mostly ordinary, except he died of natural causes.  The defining characteristic that caught my eye?  Apparently he was quite disorganized.   Also his name makes my skin crawl for reasons I think I have made more than clear.