|<< War Protest | Greenspan Sees Shadow, Predicts Six More Weeks of Low Interest Rates >>|
No, Don't Be Chicken Again!
So anyway, The Queen and I were in the car, listing to a NPR quiz show. (We were also driving somewhere. I don't want to give you the impression that we just sit out in the car and listen to NPR quiz shows.) One of the multiple-choice questions was something along the lines of "In 1962 President Kennedy formed the President's Council On Youth Fitness, the official theme song of which was what?" The host then gave, as possible answers, three equally ludicrous song titles, including option C: "Go You Chickenfat, Go!"
"Go You Chickenfat?," The Queen said incredulously, while the contestant hemmed and hawed. "Well, it's not that one."
"Yes it is," said I.
At that moment the contestant guessed B, only to discover that she was wrong. "No," said the gameshow host, "the correct answer is C: Go You Chickenfat, Go!"
The Queen looked at me with what would have been respect if this particular piece of obscure knowledge hasn't been so astoundingly stupid. "How on earth did you know that?" she asked.
"Touch down, every morning -- ten times!," I told her. "Not just, now and theeennnnnn..."
I took her expression of horror as encouragement, and continued.
"Give that chickenfat, back to the chicken and, don't be chicken again."
"Oh my God," said The Queen. "Are you singing the Chickenfat Song? Do you know the words to The Chickenfat Song?"
"No, don't be chicken again!" I replied.
It's true. I know the whole goddamned Chickenfat Song. And here it is. [mp3 link. Warning -- you will have this song in your head for at least a week after hearing it. I am so totally not exaggerating.]
Apparently this song -- actually called "The Youth Fitness Song," written by Meredith Wilson and recorded by Robert Preston -- was distributed by the Presidential Council on Youth Fitness to every school in the United States. And that's where I -- and thousands of other people -- heard it.
Indeed, I heard it every single day, as I and a couple dozen of my elementary school classmates did our morning PE exercises. I don't remember how old I was, or what grade I was in, or what teacher played it for us, but I'll be pickled if I don't recall every single word of this six minute, thirty second song.
With crap like this lodged into every nook and cranny of my memory, is it any wonder that I can't remember my own zip code?Posted on February 10, 2003 to Storytelling