Monday, July 02, 2007
Funniest Moments in Television
Many many of the funniest moments in the history of television came from The Carol Burnett Show, but for my money this is the funniest of them all.
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Wessexes Expecting
Prince Edward, Earl of Wessex, youngest son of the Queen, shown here with his countess Sophie and their daughter Lady Louise in 2003, will be adding to their family, Buckingham Palace has just announced.
The newest royal is expected in December.
There is a cloud over the good news, however, as the countess' previous pregnancy and delivery were fraught with complications.
Pop Culture Institute would like to offer the royal couple its best wishes at this time. The new arrival will be the Queen's eighth grandchild.
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Books Wormed: "Like A Lampshade in a Whorehouse: My Life in Comedy" by Phyllis Diller with Richard Buskin
There are books over one which labours, and there are books that, no matter how slowly one reads, are over far too soon.
Phyllis Diller's memoir is clearly in the latter category. I think she should have teamed up with the author of The Neverending Story on this one instead; I wanted it to go on and on.
In 1986 I had the privilege of attending one of her shows. I'd always been a fan, since the time she was on The Muppet Show in the late Seventies, I guess, although it seems like there was never a time in my life when she wasn't present. Seeing her genius (and hearing that laugh!) in person was the ultimate thrill. I've always wanted to be a standup comedian (and I may yet do it, if I can get over the stage fright) but she did it at a time when women simply didn't do such things. Yet she bears no obvious bitterness; unlike Joan Rivers' Enter Talking, which is better written, but also much more bitter.
Miss Diller's message is overwhelmiingly, almost overbearingly, positive. Having triumphed over a difficult childhood, less-than-perfect looks, and criminal taste in men, with persistence and humour she turned all her lemons into lemonade. By being able to make others laugh at the mess of her life, she has also been able to laugh at it as well. The book flits from high to high, stopping occasionally to ponder a darker moment, but never staying long.
Like A Lampshade in a Whorehouse doesn't belong on the shelf with the memoirs; it belongs with the self-help books, except that it succeeds where many of those well-meaning works fail. Miss Diller's brand of help is effective mainly because she's already tried it on herself, and her life is proof enough that it works.
The next time I find I'm taking my own "problems" so seriously, all I have to do is crack this one open again and make myself read until I've lightened up.
Gawd, I hope there's a sequel...
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Phyllis Diller's memoir is clearly in the latter category. I think she should have teamed up with the author of The Neverending Story on this one instead; I wanted it to go on and on.In 1986 I had the privilege of attending one of her shows. I'd always been a fan, since the time she was on The Muppet Show in the late Seventies, I guess, although it seems like there was never a time in my life when she wasn't present. Seeing her genius (and hearing that laugh!) in person was the ultimate thrill. I've always wanted to be a standup comedian (and I may yet do it, if I can get over the stage fright) but she did it at a time when women simply didn't do such things. Yet she bears no obvious bitterness; unlike Joan Rivers' Enter Talking, which is better written, but also much more bitter.
Miss Diller's message is overwhelmiingly, almost overbearingly, positive. Having triumphed over a difficult childhood, less-than-perfect looks, and criminal taste in men, with persistence and humour she turned all her lemons into lemonade. By being able to make others laugh at the mess of her life, she has also been able to laugh at it as well. The book flits from high to high, stopping occasionally to ponder a darker moment, but never staying long.
Like A Lampshade in a Whorehouse doesn't belong on the shelf with the memoirs; it belongs with the self-help books, except that it succeeds where many of those well-meaning works fail. Miss Diller's brand of help is effective mainly because she's already tried it on herself, and her life is proof enough that it works.
The next time I find I'm taking my own "problems" so seriously, all I have to do is crack this one open again and make myself read until I've lightened up.
Gawd, I hope there's a sequel...
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Saturday, June 30, 2007
Books Wormed: "Michael Tolliver Lives" by Armistead Maupin
Back in the day - this was right after I came out, so I'm going to say the late Cretaceous - Armistead Maupin showed me the way.
I don't mean he gave me directions, per se, like to the nearest supermarket. But he did show me that the easiest way to be the best gay man I could be was to be the best person I could be. This was sort of a revolutionary ideology, especially in an era fraught with identity politics and the kind of militancy that tends to erode manners.
I could have very easily fallen into that trap myself back then, and become an activist with a vengeance. Hell, I already had the vengeance, and there are days even now when I find myself idly contemplating what Queer Nation and al-Qaeda could offer each other. Fortunately I got good counsel early on and instead emerged from the outrage of youth as more or less a humanist, if a cynical and misanthropic one.
In the Tales of the City series of books generally, and in the character of Michael Tolliver specifically, Maupin's own humanism is key in helping his characters to overcome whatever rage or frustration needs to be overcome. Not knowing the man, I can only conclude from his writing that he must be a very warm, caring person indeed, since every page he's ever written seems to radiate compassion and kindness.
When I found out about this book being published, the bulk of my elation at the news was that it would be about Mouse (as he was known); maybe it was because we had the same name, but Mouse was always my favourite character. Over the course of six books, which I first read one after the other in 1989 and have reread in the same way half a dozen times since then, Mouse goes through a lot, yet doesn't ever let himself get down for long. This in itself is a feat that I have until recently felt was possible only in a work of fiction.
In Michael Tolliver Lives Maupin is still showing me the way. Now, though, instead of how to be young, the lessons to be gleaned from him are more related to being old. Youth, as difficult as it was, seems easy when compared to ageing, especially in a gay context.
I don't yet have the vocabulary to talk about growing older without sounding negative, and it'll take more than a single novel (no matter how great) to change that. In this book Michael's new boyfriend Ben is depicted as something akin to Apollo carved out of cream cheese. Maupin's real-life husband is of a similar vintage, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he knows what he's talking about.
But I am now and have always been skeptical about chubby chasers and Daddy's boys and bears of all kinds. While I've seen plenty of evidence that they exist, they've been darned reticent towards me, especially lately. They may exist, but nevertheless I won't believe in them until they make themselves more obvious.
While the world in which I live has given me a share of kindness and loving friendships, the gay community within it seems content - pleased, even - to see me die of unrequited love.
Then again, if Michael Tolliver can survive, maybe I can too. All I need to do is find a way to write myself a middle age with the same generosity of spirit as one Armistead Maupin.
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I don't mean he gave me directions, per se, like to the nearest supermarket. But he did show me that the easiest way to be the best gay man I could be was to be the best person I could be. This was sort of a revolutionary ideology, especially in an era fraught with identity politics and the kind of militancy that tends to erode manners. I could have very easily fallen into that trap myself back then, and become an activist with a vengeance. Hell, I already had the vengeance, and there are days even now when I find myself idly contemplating what Queer Nation and al-Qaeda could offer each other. Fortunately I got good counsel early on and instead emerged from the outrage of youth as more or less a humanist, if a cynical and misanthropic one.
In the Tales of the City series of books generally, and in the character of Michael Tolliver specifically, Maupin's own humanism is key in helping his characters to overcome whatever rage or frustration needs to be overcome. Not knowing the man, I can only conclude from his writing that he must be a very warm, caring person indeed, since every page he's ever written seems to radiate compassion and kindness.
When I found out about this book being published, the bulk of my elation at the news was that it would be about Mouse (as he was known); maybe it was because we had the same name, but Mouse was always my favourite character. Over the course of six books, which I first read one after the other in 1989 and have reread in the same way half a dozen times since then, Mouse goes through a lot, yet doesn't ever let himself get down for long. This in itself is a feat that I have until recently felt was possible only in a work of fiction.
In Michael Tolliver Lives Maupin is still showing me the way. Now, though, instead of how to be young, the lessons to be gleaned from him are more related to being old. Youth, as difficult as it was, seems easy when compared to ageing, especially in a gay context.
I don't yet have the vocabulary to talk about growing older without sounding negative, and it'll take more than a single novel (no matter how great) to change that. In this book Michael's new boyfriend Ben is depicted as something akin to Apollo carved out of cream cheese. Maupin's real-life husband is of a similar vintage, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he knows what he's talking about.
But I am now and have always been skeptical about chubby chasers and Daddy's boys and bears of all kinds. While I've seen plenty of evidence that they exist, they've been darned reticent towards me, especially lately. They may exist, but nevertheless I won't believe in them until they make themselves more obvious.
While the world in which I live has given me a share of kindness and loving friendships, the gay community within it seems content - pleased, even - to see me die of unrequited love.
Then again, if Michael Tolliver can survive, maybe I can too. All I need to do is find a way to write myself a middle age with the same generosity of spirit as one Armistead Maupin.
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The Sound of Silence
Hear that? No? Ain't it grand?
The rhino upstairs - you know, the one who likes to tapdance in roller skates and never did learn to juggle those bowling balls despite all the practice - just moved out. As I am writing this I can see all her noisy stuff being loaded into a noisy van by her noisy relatives.
Maybe now I can get back to the sensation of not having any neighbours at all, just like it was in the old days.
Sweet...
Previously, on the Pop Culture Institute...
A Spot of Gratitude - Good Neighbours
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The rhino upstairs - you know, the one who likes to tapdance in roller skates and never did learn to juggle those bowling balls despite all the practice - just moved out. As I am writing this I can see all her noisy stuff being loaded into a noisy van by her noisy relatives.
Maybe now I can get back to the sensation of not having any neighbours at all, just like it was in the old days.
Sweet...
Previously, on the Pop Culture Institute...
A Spot of Gratitude - Good Neighbours
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Friday, June 29, 2007
Cana-wha?
Just in time for Canada Day the Dominion Institute has released the results of a survey conducted by them, and it ain't pretty.
Apparently 60% of Canadians born in Canada would fail the same test given to new Canadians.
Rather than being disappointed by this finding, I tend to think of this as a challenge. The Pop Culture Institute has always featured Canadian news and history, and will continue to do so.
Enlightertainment to the rescue!
[S O U R C E]
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Apparently 60% of Canadians born in Canada would fail the same test given to new Canadians.
Rather than being disappointed by this finding, I tend to think of this as a challenge. The Pop Culture Institute has always featured Canadian news and history, and will continue to do so.
Enlightertainment to the rescue!
[S O U R C E]
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Order of Canada Recipients Named
Former Prime Minister Jean Chretien was among the 74 Canadians honoured for their public works with an Order of Canada this year, as announced by the office of the Governor-General.
Also on the list: golfer Mike Weir, veteran broadcaster Pamela Wallin, politician Preston Manning, and rocker Robbie Robertson.
Created on July 1, 1967, the Order of Canada is being marked this year by what a statement from Rideau Hall calls "a celebration of 40 years of outstanding achievements and excellence in all sectors of society."
Alas, my name was not on the list. Oh well, there's always next year.
[S O U R C E]
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Also on the list: golfer Mike Weir, veteran broadcaster Pamela Wallin, politician Preston Manning, and rocker Robbie Robertson.
Created on July 1, 1967, the Order of Canada is being marked this year by what a statement from Rideau Hall calls "a celebration of 40 years of outstanding achievements and excellence in all sectors of society."
Alas, my name was not on the list. Oh well, there's always next year.
[S O U R C E]
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Another Milestone!
Did any of you see "The 300"? Yeah, well triple it and you'll get a sense of how I'm feeling right now.
900. Shit. What have I done?
Well, whatever it was, it's pretty well unstoppable by now. I almost feel the need to put the brakes on, so as not to feel too overwhelmed. I'd like to take some time to bask in what is essentially the most minor of successes, so that I might nurture it and help it grow.
After all, isn't growth what summer is all about...
Next Milestone - Post # 1000 - August 5th
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900. Shit. What have I done?
Well, whatever it was, it's pretty well unstoppable by now. I almost feel the need to put the brakes on, so as not to feel too overwhelmed. I'd like to take some time to bask in what is essentially the most minor of successes, so that I might nurture it and help it grow.
After all, isn't growth what summer is all about...
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WTF: A Picture Of Me?
Wednesday, while on the way to work, I spotted this handsome fellow on a wall in Gastown.
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Thursday, June 28, 2007
Bald Eagle Flying High
The word on the street says that the bald eagle is about to be taken off the endangered species list.
Never really hunted (although poachers will take them for their feathers and talons) the bald eagle was originally endangered by things such as pesticides, which rendered their eggshells too fragile to hatch.
The near-extinction of the bald eagle was a real wake up call to American industry, as its declining numbers were always linked to pollution, and pollution is always due to greed. Legislation in the Seventies such as the Clean Air Act did much to preserve this noble species.
Now if only they can hold on long enough to get Bush and his contempt for the environment out of office, it should be clear skies for the bald eagle from now on.
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Mea Culpa
I know the blog hasn't been quite right the past few days. I've gone way off topic, and suddenly I don't care about the ongoing development of my brand quite like I did last week. I'm sure at some point I'll snap out of it and things will go back to normal, but until it does, can you please just humour me?
My life has changed so much in the past week, I barely recognise it myself. I was unaware that the trip to Seattle would have this effect on me. In addition, though, I have had a few very unsettling (in a good way) days on Facebook.
I must have found and contacted half a dozen people from my past, including my best friend from Grade 2, not to mention the long-lost Matthew. (You remember him; he's the one who made the stripper political.) I joined a group related to my birth name and have managed to purge alot of hatred of it in the process.
I've even gotten an ecstatic response from an ex. I believe it may be the first one ever, so I'm still learning how to deal with it.
Plus, there's nothing like a new iPod is there? Especially when the old one hadn't been right enough to listen to for many months. I'm sure that a certain amount of the week's elation is related to the narcotic properties of the iPod Effect. Try going from Edith Piaf to the B-52s to Joni Mitchell with various surreal stops in between and I guarantee eventually your widdle mind go boom.
Throughout April and May I felt like I was trapped in a rut, only the rut felt more like a trench. Today I feel like I'm walking six inches off the ground.
The funny thing is I must have read twenty horoscopes in the past three months that said something like this was coming; I can remember thinking "Oh sure, that'll happen." Meanwhile I'm running from store to store trying to find a plunger that works on backed up Qi.
Which is when the blockage just sort of... Unblocked.
I guess 48 hours of undiluted Gagne-fication really can work miracles.
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My life has changed so much in the past week, I barely recognise it myself. I was unaware that the trip to Seattle would have this effect on me. In addition, though, I have had a few very unsettling (in a good way) days on Facebook.
I must have found and contacted half a dozen people from my past, including my best friend from Grade 2, not to mention the long-lost Matthew. (You remember him; he's the one who made the stripper political.) I joined a group related to my birth name and have managed to purge alot of hatred of it in the process.
I've even gotten an ecstatic response from an ex. I believe it may be the first one ever, so I'm still learning how to deal with it.
Plus, there's nothing like a new iPod is there? Especially when the old one hadn't been right enough to listen to for many months. I'm sure that a certain amount of the week's elation is related to the narcotic properties of the iPod Effect. Try going from Edith Piaf to the B-52s to Joni Mitchell with various surreal stops in between and I guarantee eventually your widdle mind go boom.
Throughout April and May I felt like I was trapped in a rut, only the rut felt more like a trench. Today I feel like I'm walking six inches off the ground.
The funny thing is I must have read twenty horoscopes in the past three months that said something like this was coming; I can remember thinking "Oh sure, that'll happen." Meanwhile I'm running from store to store trying to find a plunger that works on backed up Qi.
Which is when the blockage just sort of... Unblocked.
I guess 48 hours of undiluted Gagne-fication really can work miracles.
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Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Blair Is Dead, Long Live The Brown
Gordon Brown paid a visit to Buckingham Palace today, during which the Queen invited him to form her government.
Tony Blair, meanwhile, begins a high-profile job as an envoy to the Eastern Mediterranean. As long as the situation between Israel and Palestine isn't as fractious as a New Labour caucus meeting, he should be fine.
Damn...
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R.I.P. Liz Claiborne
In the late Seventies and early Eighties, the name Liz Claiborne was synonymous with sexy working women. Over the years her licenses expanded into fragrance, accessories, and even cosmetics.
She died today, aged 78; no cause of death was given.
Although Claiborne retired from managing her empire in 1989 it will live on after her, as long as there are career women looking to be stylish with just a soupcon of sexy.
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She died today, aged 78; no cause of death was given.
Although Claiborne retired from managing her empire in 1989 it will live on after her, as long as there are career women looking to be stylish with just a soupcon of sexy.
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The Curse Is Broken
I'd been wracking my brain, looking for something that wasn't there, a simple name. The last name, in fact, of my last boyfriend.
Two hours I spent trying to remember it. In vain...
That's just the omen I'd been waiting for; proof that I've finally moved on.
* * *
The last relationship curse I was under was broken when I received a kiss from a straight guy.
Ed was a totally hot straight guy - tall, lean, a redhead - who got so drunk at a party one time he let his girlfriend divulge the fact that he'd always wondered what it would be like to kiss a guy. I was a little tipsy myself, and since I was the only guy at that particular party who was into being kissed by guys, I stepped up.
He was an amazing kisser, so I went for it in a big way. I'd been dying to grab his ass for months, and so I did. He responded by grinding into me, and I won't tell you what I felt then, but it was nice. For a moment it was so intense that even the sound of our friends roaring with drunken approval fell away.
When it was over I whispered in his ear: "Curiosity sated?" To which he replied: "Yes, thank you." Imagine a gay guy saying thank you for a kiss. I could have been greedy and asked him if there was anything else he wanted, but I didn't. For once in my tacky life I was tasteful.
A week later I met the man who would be my longest-serving boyfriend.
* * *
I wasn't sure what it would take to break the curse I've been under, but I knew it wouldn't be the same as the last. This is the main reason I didn't spend five years trying to finagle another kiss out of a straight guy. That and the fact that all the straight guys I know whom I consider even remotely snoggy all have fabulous wives.
Otherwise, I'd have been all over Barrett like an Episcopal vestment. IsallI'msayin'...
It's all over now but the in-depth analysis. I felt the curse's power weakening during (and even just before) the Seattle Sojourn; what remains is to determine the extent of it, and then repair any of the damage it caused before...
Well, before I shout "Next!" and the line at the deli counter of my sex life inches forward.
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Two hours I spent trying to remember it. In vain...
That's just the omen I'd been waiting for; proof that I've finally moved on.
The last relationship curse I was under was broken when I received a kiss from a straight guy.
Ed was a totally hot straight guy - tall, lean, a redhead - who got so drunk at a party one time he let his girlfriend divulge the fact that he'd always wondered what it would be like to kiss a guy. I was a little tipsy myself, and since I was the only guy at that particular party who was into being kissed by guys, I stepped up.
He was an amazing kisser, so I went for it in a big way. I'd been dying to grab his ass for months, and so I did. He responded by grinding into me, and I won't tell you what I felt then, but it was nice. For a moment it was so intense that even the sound of our friends roaring with drunken approval fell away.
When it was over I whispered in his ear: "Curiosity sated?" To which he replied: "Yes, thank you." Imagine a gay guy saying thank you for a kiss. I could have been greedy and asked him if there was anything else he wanted, but I didn't. For once in my tacky life I was tasteful.
A week later I met the man who would be my longest-serving boyfriend.
I wasn't sure what it would take to break the curse I've been under, but I knew it wouldn't be the same as the last. This is the main reason I didn't spend five years trying to finagle another kiss out of a straight guy. That and the fact that all the straight guys I know whom I consider even remotely snoggy all have fabulous wives.
Otherwise, I'd have been all over Barrett like an Episcopal vestment. IsallI'msayin'...
It's all over now but the in-depth analysis. I felt the curse's power weakening during (and even just before) the Seattle Sojourn; what remains is to determine the extent of it, and then repair any of the damage it caused before...
Well, before I shout "Next!" and the line at the deli counter of my sex life inches forward.
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Why Do I Do The Things I Do?
Okay, so given that the past week has been especially photo heavy I thought it was as good a time as any to bring the focus back onto the words. Words, after all, are what a writer is all about. I was a writer first, and I'll probably be a writer last, so it's a writer I should be foremost.
That, plus the Interweb is really slow around here lately. Opening Photobucket takes forever, and there's some problem at Wikipedia that won't let me get in at all. No doubt there's a fierce battle raging behind the scenes over an ill-chosen adjective; whatever it is, I ain't getting involved.
So I forge on, undeterred. Perserverance, after all, is my motto.
The Seattle Sojourn is still percolating. I definitely feel different today than I did the day I left Vancouver, even though it was a mere five days ago; this may, in fact, be the broadening effect which is famously the result of travel. Suddenly this blog seems like a quaint little travelogue documenting life inside my own rut. In other words, not at all the effect I was going for.
It's possible that self-absorption (the ultimate provincialism) has been keeping me from a wider readership, when in fact what I've always intended is to personalize pop culture, to make it accessible, relatable even. Not for nothing do I call it the People's History.
So in the meantime I continue to reach out: to friends both immediate and long-lost, to strangers even, to anyone that is who'll help me to understand the swirling chaos I'm forever trying to make sense of called life.
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That, plus the Interweb is really slow around here lately. Opening Photobucket takes forever, and there's some problem at Wikipedia that won't let me get in at all. No doubt there's a fierce battle raging behind the scenes over an ill-chosen adjective; whatever it is, I ain't getting involved.
So I forge on, undeterred. Perserverance, after all, is my motto.
The Seattle Sojourn is still percolating. I definitely feel different today than I did the day I left Vancouver, even though it was a mere five days ago; this may, in fact, be the broadening effect which is famously the result of travel. Suddenly this blog seems like a quaint little travelogue documenting life inside my own rut. In other words, not at all the effect I was going for.
It's possible that self-absorption (the ultimate provincialism) has been keeping me from a wider readership, when in fact what I've always intended is to personalize pop culture, to make it accessible, relatable even. Not for nothing do I call it the People's History.
So in the meantime I continue to reach out: to friends both immediate and long-lost, to strangers even, to anyone that is who'll help me to understand the swirling chaos I'm forever trying to make sense of called life.
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Facebook 'Em, Dano
Wow!
It's not very often I fall into a website like I've just recently done with Facebook.
I'm using it to investigate various mysterious figures from my past, as well as to keep tabs on those slippery little guppies I like to call my current friends. It's so cool, I may get it installed on my mobile. Because I can.
Okay, you caught me. I'm really using it to procrastinate. But at least I got this blog post out of it, so HA! And at least it's better than Tamagotchi, so HA HA!!
Actually, for someone who's as socially impaired as me, Facebook feels more like a video game. One designs a profile, and with that attracts the attention of others. Every day it seems I'm adding friends, and it has a nicer interface than email.
In addition to the valuable therapy of composing a profile, there's the added benefit that I think it's bringing me out of my shell in a way. Ah the Internet! The patron saint of the socially inept. Let's you get over the awkward bits without having to be face-to-face when they happen.
After years (my whole life really) of driving people away I may be about to find out what effect (if any) my actions might have had.
[Join Me!]
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It's not very often I fall into a website like I've just recently done with Facebook.
I'm using it to investigate various mysterious figures from my past, as well as to keep tabs on those slippery little guppies I like to call my current friends. It's so cool, I may get it installed on my mobile. Because I can.
Okay, you caught me. I'm really using it to procrastinate. But at least I got this blog post out of it, so HA! And at least it's better than Tamagotchi, so HA HA!!
Actually, for someone who's as socially impaired as me, Facebook feels more like a video game. One designs a profile, and with that attracts the attention of others. Every day it seems I'm adding friends, and it has a nicer interface than email.
In addition to the valuable therapy of composing a profile, there's the added benefit that I think it's bringing me out of my shell in a way. Ah the Internet! The patron saint of the socially inept. Let's you get over the awkward bits without having to be face-to-face when they happen.
After years (my whole life really) of driving people away I may be about to find out what effect (if any) my actions might have had.
[Join Me!]
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Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Playing Catch-Up
It seems strange that I was really only gone from 4:15 PM Friday until noon on Monday. There's so much to do it's like I was gone for a month.
In addition to blogging I have a house to clean, what feels like two loads of laundry a day for the remainder of the week, a cat to de-neuroticize, and a million other things as well, most of which I have yet to find out about.
I guess it's only shocking to find my life has momentum because for the past few months it's had none to speak of. Part of my intention for going to Seattle in the first place was to jump start myself.
I think it worked. I was up before my alarm this morning, and I've been going steadily ever since.
Oh well, only a few more years of this and I'll be caught up to where I'm supposed to be.
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In addition to blogging I have a house to clean, what feels like two loads of laundry a day for the remainder of the week, a cat to de-neuroticize, and a million other things as well, most of which I have yet to find out about.
I guess it's only shocking to find my life has momentum because for the past few months it's had none to speak of. Part of my intention for going to Seattle in the first place was to jump start myself.
I think it worked. I was up before my alarm this morning, and I've been going steadily ever since.
Oh well, only a few more years of this and I'll be caught up to where I'm supposed to be.
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Monday, June 25, 2007
Announcing: The Pop Culture Institute's Anthem
Enjoy at your leisure this stirring rendition of the Pop Culure Institute's anthem, "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" by Edith Piaf.
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