Stuck in my head

In his latest column for Entertainment Weekly, our uncle Stevie (King) discusses the results of a solicitation he did for readers of his website: the song that's the worst "earworm" (a song which gets stuck in one's head and just burrows itself deeper into one's consciousness). (The most often mentioned song: "The Macarena".)

But what struck me was the tale he related at the beginning, as the introduction to the topic. He referenced stumbling to the kitchen in the middle of the night, barely coherent, and finding himself muttering an opening couplet, which he quotes: "They say a man should always dress for the job he wants / So why am I dressed up like a pirate in this restaurant?"

Yes, it's from one of the Free Credit Report commercials.

And when I went to type that quote, I assure you I didn't have to refer the magazine. I could continue with the next line off the top of my head ("It's all because some hacker stole my identity"—I told you; and it's worth noting that as I type this I have my iPod playing Sweet's "The SixTeens" so there's actively another song that should be distracting me but it's not), but I won't go on (for everyone's sake).

There have been moments were odd songs have just come to mind (such as the one documented in this post about the inexplicable "Arthur's Theme" incident), but that's nothing compared to when I find myself absent-mindedly humming those jingles from those Free Credit Report ads (not merely the aforementioned one). I've been in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, with these lines running through my head: "Well, I married my dream girl, I married my dream girl / But she didn't tell me her credit was bad…".

I dare not proceed with the quote. I've made it bad enough as it is.

Here's the thing: It's one thing for an actual song—even a Christopher Cross one I haven't heard in decades—to pop in there. That's merely odd. And whether it's terribly artistic or not, it's at least art. The jingles are commerce; there's no pretense to the contrary. They seek to get me to spend money on some credit monitoring service—which means that the credit report isn't really "free" so the name of the website it promotes is wildly inaccurate (just to add insult to proverbial injury). And rather than songs I actually like—or at least songs that are just songs—being what my synapses spur me to sing, it's those damned, infectious lines about feet sticking to the floor and my posse getting laughed at.

It's worse than subliminal. It's slammed in my face, but it still works. It succeeds beyond their wildest hopes.

Except for the fact that I've never gone to the website. But maybe that's not what their aspirations were. Perhaps they wanted me to eventually write about it.

Free advertising they did achieve. Insidiously effective.

If only someone comes up with a website that provides a means of getting these jingles out of my head, that is a service I'd pay for. Of course, one can only imagine how catchy the song in that commercial will be...