Reid About It

I had several other things I wanted to write about today, but I woke up consumed with something. Yesterday a song came on my car radio that I hadn't heard since it came out long ago.

Unfortunately, it was by Jewel.

For those of you who may not remember, Jewel was a pretty little former van-sleeping Alaskan singer whose trademark was writing the same kind of awful poetry normally embraced by creepy weird chicks with leghair who live in the dorms for all four years of college.

One of her songs came on, and I made the mistake of listening to it. Twice last night, I awoke in utter absolute feverish confusion, with her song in my mind.



What the Hell was she talking about?

Eh? "They're not yours they are my own"? Well, if it makes no sense, say it twice, that'll straighten everything up. Whose hands are you talking about? Was there a doubt as to which hands you were referring to at the end of your arms?

She goes on to refer to praying, and being God's eyes, hands, and mind. So they're God's hands?

No. They're still her hands. And she's pretty fervent about it, because she says the same thing eight times in the song.



Apparently, Jewel was truly inspired by the philosophical musings of Bobby McFerrin.

This was Jewel's last popular song, except for "Intuition", which I believe was actually a love song written about a razor.

We're missing a golden opportunity here, we should translate her poetry, and drop it into Iraq. If we can get an Arabic version of lines like "poverty stole your golden shoes," they'll be so confused, we can control the country without loss of life.