AN EXERCISE IN CIRCULAR LOGIC...
...Or, perhaps, it just goes around in circles...

Note: This blog will resolve itself, albeit in convoluted fashion. It's all inter-connected (as opposed to outer-connected?) It'll make sense in the long run. I hope.
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YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT, RIGHT? That's what "they" say, whoever "they" are. They're generally correct, though. With that in mind, I'm more concered with the foods I'm eating, from a digestive standpoint. When I consider what to buy at the grocery store, a large part of my purchase decisions have to do with, "hey, this stuff is really good and I want it, but how well will it navigate through my system?" While shopping, I passed the big Frito-Lay rack that held all kinds of snacks, including Chee-Tos. I love 'em way too much, but they're salty and starchy, and wiping a longing tear from my eye, I headed for another aisle instead. (Snif) I'm dancing all around this topic, but hopefully you get the idea of what I'm trying to say here. To quote an oft-utilized slogan, "it all comes out in the end." That doesn't stop me from sometimes being foolish. Last night, I bought one of those big-big Nestle's Crunch Bars. Shame on me! That doesn't happen often, though. I've largely been substiting Bananas for snacks, chips or candy bars. So, if it's true that if "you are what you eat", I guess my consumption of Bananas must mean I have appeal. (Really, you shoulda seen that one coming.)
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YOU ARE WHAT YOU HEAR, RIGHT? Have you ever heard of an earworm? You can hear 'em everywhere you go, on the car radio, in a music store, on a TV commercial...and when you hear a certain song, it can crawl right inside your brain and fester Big Time. The only known cure for an earworm, is to go out, buy the song, take it home, and listen to it no less than 37 times so you can drive that ugly old earworm outta your skull. I had a bad earworm a few years back. It revolved around a song, "Baby Don't You Do It" by a group called The Chosen Few, which came out on a small label in Charlotte, North Carolina. How about that, "The North Carolina Sound". Who knew? I'd found a copy in a Salvation Army Thrift Store when I was a kid, but for whatever reason, after a few years I didn't have the record anymore. So, I hadn't heard the Chosen Few's version song in close to 30 years, but what happened was, I kept hearing other versions of the song by other artists in the meantime.
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The Who, for instance, recorded it as a B-side of a single, and I was really disappointed with their version. One of the Motown groups recorded the original version of that song before The Who (or the Chosen Few) got hold of it, but every time I heard those other versions, I kept hearing the Chosen Few's version in my mind and it drove me NUTS. Finally, in exasperation, I put out an all-points-bulletin on Ebay for the Chosen Few's version of 'Baby Don't Do It', and a guy from Montana answered me (how that obscure record ever got to Montana, I'll never know) and said he had a copy of it that he'd part with for $40. Yikes! We're talking about a little 7" vinyl record. Even though that price bordered on extortion, I bought it, couldn't wait to hear it, and it sounds even BETTER to me these days than it did when I was a kid. That particular earworm has departed from my skull. One less bat in my belfry.
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YOU ARE WHAT YOU WHISTLE, RIGHT? I was shopping at the Grocery Store tonight, and whilst making critical decisions on what brand of milk to buy, I kept hearing a little melody that threatened to become an earworm. That was an hour and a half ago, and now, sitting in the La-Z-Boy, it's still trying to burrow its way inside my skull. And let me tell ya, there's plenty of room in there. As long as it doesn't damage my one remaining brain cell, I've got room for it. Anyway, I got to the checkstand to pay for my stuff, and still, I heard that melody. So I paid for my stuff, and headed out to the car, where I STILL kept hearing it. I kept trying to figure out what the tune was...whatever it was, it was definitely an annoying little ditty which was beginning to burrow into MY brain...right now my brain is fighting with my repression mechanism in a quest for Total Control Of My Sanity...
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It turned out that a customer shopping the same time I was and who was also heading to his car, had his own demonic personal earworm which he was trying to dislodge by whistling its melody...(that can help with an earworm, but not always.)
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The tune he was whistling was from "The Wizard Of Oz", that song we all know and love, "If I Only Had A Brain". If you are what you whistle, this poor guy's got it bad. Is he losing his marbles? Does he really not have a Brain? A shrink might conclude it's a Cry for Help, especially if you cannot dissuade yourself for whistling That Particular song In Public. Dr. Phil might say it's a manifestation of a desire to fully reveal himself to those around him. Sigmund Freud might view it as some sort of compensation, as if the guy wishing for, but not getting sexual prowess was using his whistling as a sort of defense-mechanism-substitute. And Pavlov just might experiment with a chronic whistler, trying to get his dog to salivate after the first notes are warbled out.
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I promised that everything here was connected, if in a very elliptical way, and so it is. After all, if 'If I only Had A Brain' earwormed its way inside of my skull...I'd go BANANAS!