where's that song?

I've had one of those summers. One that's been fun (hello, Dollywood! and Cleveland! and New York City! and cups of tea and Netflix documentaries in the afternoon!), but that's largely been spent feeling guilty about what I've not been doing: writing, revising, lesson planning, reading the 13 books I ordered in a frenzy of wishful thinking during finals week, or updating this blog. But, sadder still, it's also--so far--for me been a summer without a song.

There are the summer hits (remember The Summer of "Hey Ya" and how the dance floors filled and we all mash-potatoed and shook our hips?) and the summery songs, but I'm talking about when the timing's right and I meet a song I like around the time I'm pulling shorts out of boxes, and I get to know it better as the fireflies appear, and I like it enough to play on all the car trips and out the open windows, not tiring of it when the locusts start hissing, or when the school supplies invade store shelves, or maybe ever.

And so in lieu of posting this summer's song that I haven't met yet, I'm turning to a song about falling in love with a song. It just so happens to be one of THE top handclap tunes (revel in that breakdown at 2:38, please), but it's here because it's about that very good thing--I'm in love / what's that song?--that doesn't happen all that often and that we can't predict, but when it does, it's worth sharing.

I had never seen this video until I YouTube searched the song today, but I appreciate what seems a poignant sort of disconnect between the ho-hum black and white visuals of knees and nostrils and messy hair, and the dizzy, hyper affection in the music, the love Paul Westerberg's singing about--how the song gives life to the visual ennui. It makes me want to keep my ears open and to play music while I  finally get down to work at this old, boring desk of mine.