Don’t Stop Believin’… in The Star Spangled Banner!


I found a post that suggested declaring “Don’t Stop Believin'” our new national anthem. Now, I don’t have anything in particular against Don’t Stop Believin’ (except for the fact that I’m sick to death of it, thank you Sopranos and White Sox and Glee and Rock of Ages…) but I’m a little confused about the common interpretation that it’s about hope, as the title might suggest to the less cynical among us. But there’s really nothing inspiring about the actual lyrics, including “Oh, the movie never ends, it goes on and on and on and on…” Dreary! Disheartening! Non-hopeful.

So you know I couldn’t help but hold forth:

Should Don’t Stop Believin’ be our national anthem?

Nope, so sorry, I have to put the kibosh on this little escapade.

First of all, maybe YOU can’t sing the National Anthem, but I can. And if you think hammering that “land of the FREE” note at full volume doesn’t make you the hero of the row, then… ok, no, it doesn’t. Nobody appreciates that at all.

But second, and more important, Don’t Stop Believin’ is not a song about hope or faith or any of that other rinky-tinky bullpoo. Don’t Stop Believin’ is about SEX: hot, sweaty, dirty sex. That “forbidden fruit” kinda sex. That “for a smile they can share the night, those dice-rolling strangers with their cheap wine and boulevards and whatnot” kind of sex. You know. The good kind.

And if there’s one thing the United States of America is NOT about, buddy, you better believe it’s sex. Every other law is about keeping somebody from getting it on with somebody else… and a good thing too! If we’re all out finding emotion hiding somewhere in the night, who’s going to write the user manuals? Install the In-Sink-Erators? Sing opera? Feed the llamas? Nobody, that’s who. You thought that whole sub-prime thing played hell with the economy? Wait’ll you see what happens after a couple of weeks of working hard to get our fill!

No. No no no. The National Anthem has to be at once daunting and unrewarding, just like life, dammit! Otherwise we’ll all go flying off into spirals of shimmering joy, sweat streaming down our glistening bodies, Steve Perry’s sweet voice filling the air as we EXPLODE into infinite particles of light scattershot against the sun…

Aw, screw it, I’m in.

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