Early tomorrow morning, I’ll be boarding a plane to head out to California for Thanksgiving. I’ll still be posting, but perhaps not as frequently. To hold you over, here are some lyrics from one of my favorite musucians, Ben Folds. It’s about life in suburbia, something which many of us can relate to.
Y’all don’t know what it’s like, watching Idol on a Friday night
In a house built safe and sound on an Indian burial ground, sham on.
We drive our cars everyday to and from work both ways
And we make just enough to pay to drive our cars to work each day, hey hey.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs — around the block just one more time.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs ’cause I can’t tell which house is mine.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs — we part the shades and face the facts.
They got better looking fescue right across the cul de sac.
Hot real estate rising stars, get rich quick seminars.
Soap opera magazines, forty-thousand-watt nativity scenes.
Don’t freak about the smoke alarm —
Mom left the TV dinner on.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs from Downing Mews to Chevy Chase.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs — we numb the muscles in our face.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs — we feed the dog and mow the lawn,
Watching mommy bounce the checks while daddy juggles credit cards.
(William Shatner, the neighbor.) Hi! Sorry to bother you. The name’s Bill, I live just across the street. Yeah, that’s right over there. No, no, not that house, the one next to it with the extra flowerbed. Oh, and here’s all your papers from the last few days. They were just piling up on the driveway where the whole neighborhood can see them. Not that that’s a problem, of course, but that and the grass being a little overgrown might give someone the impression you were out of town, and you wouldn’t want that!
I’ve got to be going shortly to a little class I’ve been attending. I just — no, no, no, no, not pottery or anything like that. It’s uh… an anger management class, actually. And, speaking of that very class they’ve been emphasizing finding some common ground with… people before you confront them, to avoid becoming violent, you know? Well actually we do have a few things in common. Here, could you take these papers? They’re getting my suit wet.
And, as I was saying, we do live on the same cul-de-sac, that’s common ground. And I believe we actually have the same houseplan, except in reverse. Your garage is on the left and mine is on the–
No, it wasn’t me that dialed 911 at 6:31 pm Wednesday about your son’s noisy rock band. Anyway, it’s about your dog. And of course about our garbage, and some of the neighbors’ garbage cans. No, I’m sorry it is your dog who’s been strewing garbage around the block. And I have digital evidence complete with red-eye reduction, which I will email to you to prove that it is in fact your dog.
Now, I have to warn you that I have a black belt in karate, too, and I certainly don’t mind using it if necessary. No, not on you, ma’am, on. your. stinking. DOG!
We’re rockin’ the suburbs, everything we need is here.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs — but it wasnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t here last year.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs. You’ll never know when we are gone
Because a timer lights the pond and turns the cricket noises on,
Each night, yeah yeah.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs, yeah yeah.
We’re rockin’ the suburbs.
Published or updated November 18, 2006. If you enjoyed this article, subscribe to the RSS feed or receive daily emails. Follow @ConsumerismComm on Twitter and visit our Facebook page for more updates.