These Boots Are Made For Walking

Nancy "Natural Blonde" Sinatra (right)

"These Boots Are Made For Walking."  Who didn't like that little ditty?  I did.  Oh sure, it was probably only a hit for Nancy Sinatra because she got to the head of the line because she was Old Blue Eye's daughter.  But still, cute song.  I always liked it.  

No more.

This past August I visited my friend Pat in Toronto.  I stayed at his minimalist digs.  Quite nice although VERY minimal (you should have seen me trying to take a shower - like a flamingo standing on one leg - nothing to grab onto but I digress).  

Most evenings during my two week stay (yes, I overdid it but we won't go there now), we played Scrabble.  Pat has the Sonos music system in his house.  Music played softly through the walls.  That was fine until he decided to share his obsession with Nancy "These Boots Are Made For Walking" Sinatra with me.  

The first hour or two, I didn't take too much notice.  But as Nancy droned on into the third hour, I began to develop a rash and a heavy feeling at the base of my skull.  

"OMG" I thought.  "I can't take any more of her buzz saw like droning of music!"  To me Ms. Sinatra sings everything flat.  That's fine with a novelty song like "These Boots Are Made For Walking" but when she sings a serious song like "MacArthur - I left my cake in the rain - park", I'm thinking "All right!  I give up!  I'll tell you anything you want to know!"

Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.  Want to make a captured terrorist talk? Strap him down on a gurney and play "MacArthur Park" sung by Ms. Sinatra over and over and OVER.  

Folks, I can't stand to hear Nancy Sinatra now.  Just the sound of her D flat, drone causes my heart to slow down, the base of my skull becomes very heavy and I start experiencing sickening waves of nausea over my brain mass. 

Sorry beautiful - your singing just does work for me anymore

Reminds me of the story my brother Isaac told me when he took Army Basic Training.  During one of his mess hall dinners, there was left over hot dogs.  The sergeant asked the recruits "Anyone want these left over hot dogs?" Isaac, a strapping 18 year old at that time and never one to pass up an opportunity for extra food shot his hand up.  The sergeant saw his hand and said "Get your Ass Come up here recruit!"  Then he lifted the pan that contained the remaining hot dogs floating in cloudy hot water and told Isaac to help himself.  Isaac took one.  After he ate it, the sergeant told him to take another.  Isaac at that one too and the sergeant told him to take another.  What Isaac didn't know that the sergeant was playing one of the many old sadistic Army routines that are frequently played on new recruits. I had it done to me with left over strawberries for strawberry short cake. 

The Army doesn't like to waste food and the Army, during basic training likes to make examples of raw recruits to the other recruits for purposes of discipline.  The sergeant made my brother Isaac eat EVERY HOT DOG IN THAT PAN.  There were about seventeen hot dogs.  To this day, Isaac cannot even stand the sight of hot dogs. 

"GAG"

These must be a name for this condition when one gets an overload of something (help us out her Dr. Spo).  

All I know now is that whenever I even see a picture of Nancy Sinatra strains of her version of MacArthur Park start to invade my mind and I feel like I'm falling down a deep, dark hole.  

Nancy, stick with "These Boots Are Made For Walking."  You may be Ole Blue Eyes daughter but you're not Richard Harris.  

Bang bang.