Last night my wife and I went to see Bohemian Rhapsody – the story of Queen. It was the same successful formula as A Star is Born, the rise of an unknown artist into stardom. It was a welcome departure from too much Queen Cersei Lannister of Game of Thrones, who I’ve grown to despise in the popular television series. “Movie Night” gets me out of the house and away from the television screen for a few hours. Once my morning run is done, I’m typically a slug the rest of each day. 

For some odd reason, I mistakenly thought that the members of Queen had met at the Julliard School of Music  where they studied the classical music influences in Bohemian Rhapsody. I’m not sure I could have been any further from the truth, or at least how Hollywood portrayed it. As a result, after watching a movie like this, I immediately jump on the internet for some “facts.”

I guess I really didn’t know anything about Freddie Mercury at all, other the fact that I loved his voice and that he tragically died of AIDS as a result of being sexually promiscuous. I never knew he was born Ferrokh Bulsara in Zanzibar (now Tanzania), practiced the Zoroastrian religion, had a younger sister Kashmira, moved to Middlesex in his mid-teens, and was married for six years to Mary Austin. The movie held true to these details, including how in April of 1970 he joined guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor in a band called Smile, after their lead vocalist suddenly quit. Soon after, he changed the name of the group to Queen and designed their logo to represent his flamboyant style, in conjunction with zodiac signs of all four members that also included bassist John Deacon. 

Mercury wrote 10 of the group’s 17 greatest hits, but was not particularly successful doing two solo albums then returned to the band he considered family. His live performance at Live Aid was one of the greatest on record and was majestically captured in the film. In retrospect, I missed one of the humorous segments of the movie by not recognizing Mike Myers in his role as EMI record executive Ray Foster. He’s quoted as saying after listening to the six-minute long song, “mark these words…no one will listen to Queen.” He ironically implied, with a British accent, that youngsters would not be cruising along to their operatic-like music.  Seventeen years later, the movie Wayne’s World featured Myers, Dana Carvery and friends riding around their hometown of Aurora, Illinois in an AMC Pacer singing along to a cranked-up version of Bohemian Rhapsody.” He was purposely cast in the perfect role as the cynic who refused to accept their creativity. Wayne’s World helped to put the song back at the top of the charts for the second time since it was originally released. Unfortunately, Freddie Mercury was no longer alive to enjoy its unprecedented reprisal. 

My wife and I were still discussing the movie the next morning, so it must have been good. Sadly, it doesn’t deserve to be in the same paragraph as the next subject. I woke up to a pile of poop on the kitchen floor, maybe the result of the time change last night? After too many “Creature Feature” posts that appear as part of this blog about our aging schnauzer Tinker, “The Poopingest Pup on the Planet,” it was suggested by a friend that I have “poop on the brain.” I had promised to refrain from writing about it for awhile, until this morning’s “Poopsident.” It was later that my wife also found she had made a deposit on one of the painter’s tarps spread out on our living room floor. It’s hard for me to ignore the subject when I spend a good portion of every day walking them around the neighborhood armed with a bevy of doggy bags. After five or six trips outside every day picking up after her, maybe a better nickname is the “Queen of Poop?” “Crazy Little Thing Called Poop“

My friends are right – I do have poop on the brain:

Oops – Poopsident

As I walked in the kitchen,
And picked up the scent.
It wasn’t a good smell,
But rather a Poopsident.

Was it my fault?
For waiting too long?
She knows better,
Something went wrong.

With time change last night.
She was forced to wait.
I slept an extra hour,
And it was too late.

Does she need a diaper?
Or maybe a plug?
At least it was tile,
And not a Persian rug.

I took her outside,
And she had to go more.
Just how much poop?
Can a little pup store?

She overeats,
Then asks for treats.
After a snack,
The cycle repeats.

Next, magic happens,
That some may doubt.
Whatever goes in,
Even more comes out.

She’s a machine,
The “Queen of Poop.”
I need to get,
A larger scoop.

Incidents Happen,
I may be to blame?
On this occasion,
I could see her shame.

Her appetite’s grown,
As she’s gotten older.
Sometimes her output,
Is as big as a boulder.

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