When I was little my mother made up a bedtime song that she used to sing to us, to the tune of "Springtime For Hitler", called "Bedtime for Babies". I didn't know who Mel Brooks was at the time, so I didn't find anything funny about the song at all. Quite the opposite, in fact; the tune made me so unbearably sad that I used to run and hide under the kitchen table and sob. I'm still not sure why the song itself upset me so much. Just like I can't explain why "Bohemian Rhapsody" made me freak out so hard in the back seat of the car one night my dad had to pull over and have me breathe into a paper bag. The song scared me, I dunno. It made me think of dark things. I thought maybe The Exorcist was singing it or something. A child's mind is a bizarre thing indeed.
Anyway, I'm not sure what brought that up. Maybe it was this pic I took tonight of Lily and the cat at bedtime, and how my city bedtime routine is so different for my kid than my mom's was for us in the sweet, suffocating quietude of 1980's suburbia. Lily crashed out in my bed tonight under the open window and had a street lamp for a night light. And her lullaby was the hard thunk-thunk-thunk base of some asshole playing 'Rumpshaker' in his parked car in front of our building.
G'Night, NY, you city that never sleeps, you.
16 hours ago