I can now sing almost all of the Silent All These Years melody to myself whenever I want to.  That doesn’t mean it sounds good.  However, I can keep the same-ish key the whole time and not lose track of where I am.  That’s definite progress.  It’s the funniest thing.  For the longest time I couldn’t carry a note with or without music playing.  My karaoke performance is on par with Elaine’s dancing.  I can’t seem to hear and sing at the same time.  Until now.  There is one song I can sing in the shower and have since the movie came out – Part of Your World from The Little Mermaid.  Formative on so many levels. 

The day I was supposed to go see that movie my mom, little sister and I clambered into the family Suburban.  Edging toward sullen teenager, I was in the midst of some fight with my mother.  Sniping back and forth long before the car, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut more than 10 seconds in the car.  By the time we backed out of the garage and pulled up to the gate I was told to leave the vehicle itself.  I don’t remember at all what we were fighting about but I do know I cared more about that than a Disney movie.  (Huzzah for premature me!)  I stayed home that afternoon while my mom took Cameron to see The Little Mermaid at the Majestic on Winchester.

After they got home I immediately dragged Cameron to the playroom and pressed for details.  My imagination was different back then.  Disney previews in the early 90’s captured interest with one thought.  The water ripples when the T-Rex stomps or the opening musical sequence to The Lion King.  The entire preview was usually from the first 20 minutes of the movie, essentially.  I never knew how the plot would go because the formulas were still being written.  In my head, at the very least.  After seeing the preview for this particular retelling of a folk tale, I know the primary appeal for me was the potential for topless mermaids.

So I plumbed the depths of my sister’s memory to reveal the details of the movie.  Her 5-year old understanding of the things I desired to know was tenuous at best.  I vividly remember asking verbatim if there was a part where “Ariel took off her seashells?”

Cameron thinks very hard for a few seconds and nods her head smiling, “Yes!  Changing in her room,” she states matter-of-factually, proud of her knowledge.  My 8-year old brain didn’t hear anything after the assent.  Mental images flooded my mind of nubile water nymphs brazenly exposing their breasts.  The fantasies I conjured from that one moment fueled my masturbation fire for a record number of weeks.  Honestly, I still think mer-people are sexy for vaguely Freudian reasons.  Go figure I’m born a unicorn.  Grass is always greener.  Am I right?