It's no secret that I adore Ljubljana. It's also no secret that I have a rather fervent preoccupation with ice cream*.
So when the two dovetail nicely together, what do you get?
Puzzlement. I'll elaborate.
The conversation regarding the second best ice cream I've ever had is a lengthy and arduous one; there is no discussion necessary to arrive at the first. Vigo in Ljubljana makes it-- for my tastes, their chocolate is beyond comparison.
For the record, it is possible to provide a glowing account of something edible without using the (dreadfully cliched) adjectives 'amazing,' 'ohmygod**,' or the hipster resurrection 'yummy.' I'm certainly not in the business of (1) telling people they need to experience something or (2) staking a superlative claim on something that is relatively inaccessible and/or likely untried by most others. You don't need to eat ice cream at Vigo. If you do, I hope you enjoy it.
Now for the swerve***.
'Another day in paradise' is not referring to the 8 days we spent in Ljubljana, each of which afforded carefree access to Vigo. Much more literal than that, it refers to the 1989 Phil Collins hit song.
During what would be our final visit to Vigo, the following track was playing as we stood in line at the counter. [Audio quality is not the best]
It took me a minute to process what I was hearing. Jaunty dance remixes of seemingly every US chart-topper are prevalent throughout the Balkans-- so much so that you may wonder how many of them are actually 'officially licensed.' Regardless, easy as it may be to completely tune out pop music in public places, usually we would recognize the song and comment "Oh I didn't know they did a remix of [insert popular song between 1986 and 2000]."
But this song?
bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss... [my best onomatopoetic attempt at the standard dance/techno beat]
“She calls out to the man on the street
’Sir, can you help me?
It’s cold and I’ve nowhere to sleep,
Is there somewhere you can tell me?’”
Yeah, she's cold, uh, uh, uh, and destitute, uh, uh, uh, yeah... Time to get up off my pins, grab someone on the dance floor and start GRINDING.
bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss...
“He walks on, doesn’t look back
He pretends he can’t hear her
Starts to whistle as he crosses the street
Seems embarrassed to be there”
Uh, uh, uh, yeah, there's something about the discomfort of ignoring homeless people that makes me unable to control my pelvis and arms, uh, uh, uh. Hey cutie..
bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss...
“She calls out to the man on the street
He can see she’s been crying
She’s got blisters on the soles of her feet
She can’t walk but she’s trying”
Uh...Uh...Uh...Can't walk.. N-n-n-n-no-she-can't-walk...
Lol, but I can sure cut a rug to this beat!
bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss-bmm-tss...
You get the idea. Is there no quality control for dance remixes? Does doubling the beats per minute miraculously turn a maudlin song's frown upside down?
Don't get me wrong-- this is not an instance of recreational outrage (the nation's new favorite pastime), appeal for social justice, or some other vitriolic contention to manifest that my morals are loftier than those of others not protesting as loudly. I'm far from upset about this-- just a bit confused, which increasingly is becoming my default state.
By far the most upsetting thing is that I've spent time reading and reacting to a Phil Collins song. Here's the original (non-remixed) video for anyone approximately my age longing for some pre-pubescent nostalgia. Maybe to you, the song's dance club remix potential will be glaringly obvious.
After all, I only just realized (after posting the above GIF) that Chris Kattan and Jimmy Fallon are not the same person.
*current infatuation: the elusive Double Peanut Butter Magnum-- haven't seen one since Trieste and I've regretted each minute since, as I passed on it for "the best local gelato"-- which (little did I know at the time) would rank snugly between blue Fla-Vor-Ice and a melted-then-refrozen McFlurry.
**or any form thereof, particularly OMG. It's high time we returned OMG to its rightful owner/originator. And yeah, he's still alive.
***not nearly as bold or masterful as this one, but a swerve nonetheless.