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Title : What American gender politics has done to my mind.
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What American gender politics has done to my mind.

I wanted to read Maureen Dowd's new column, "Sick to Your Stomach? #MeToo" (NYT). It begins:

Somewhere in the dim recesses of my mind, I can recall a time when the sight of that white dome thrilled me. As a teenager, working for a New York congressman, I felt privileged to walk the same marble corridors where some of America’s most revered leaders had walked.

I swear that when I read that, I thought the "white dome" was the bald head of the white man she was working for. I don't know how many more sentences I had to read before I realized the "white dome" was the Capitol building.

I read the sentence out loud to Meade, to see if he got tripped up in the same way. First, he heard "white dome" as "Whitedom" (which I guess is the dominion of white people). I read it again with better enunciation, and even though he did (he admitted later) know it meant the Capitol, he said, because he knows my mind so well, "I think of the heads of 7 bald men." That is, he knew I pictured a bald head, and he was teasing me about my oft-stated remedy for the hiccups. (It works. Try it. Think of the heads of 7 bald men.)

But enough about my mind. How about Maureen Dowd's mind? Meade got stuck on the first phrase, "Somewhere in the dim recesses of my mind..." Soon, he was singing "In the dim recesses of Maureen Dowd's mind..." to the tune of The Grateful Deads' "Attics of My Life":



Here are the lyrics, in case you want to write your own parody:

In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me

I have spent my life
Seeking all that's still unsung
Bent my ear to hear the tune
And closed my eyes to see
When there were no strings to play
You played to me...

2 more verses at the link, to Genius, where there's only one annotation, on the line I bold-faced, above:

You fill to the full with most beautiful splendor those souls who close their eyes that they may see

St. Denis’s Prayer: A fourteenth-century poem from Saint Denis’s The Cloud of Unknowing.

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