Theme Translation

The original theme song for the 1966 Batman television program is Batman. The hero and his tune are inseparable. I’m not sure what people did without it for the first twenty seven years of his existence. I can’t see an image or symbol of Batman’s without getting that musical hook stuck in my head. “Na na na na na na na na…”

When Batgirl arrived on the scene, the writers decided to add a bit with her returning to her own “Batcave” on a tricked out purple motor scooter. Here’s how the planning for this plays out in my head:

Writers: “So, as she rides down the street, she’ll push a button. A section of brick wall will lower, then seal back up after she drives inside.”

Yes-men: “Genius!”

-3 months later-

Post-Production: “Um, guys? What are we supposed to do for audio over this sequence? As it is, she’s just zooming down the street. Do we want ambient traffic noises? Is there a voice-over or something?”

Writers: “Oh, crap! Uh… well, bounce it over to the music guys. Get them to write whatever to put over it.”
Post-Production: “Are you sure?”
Writers: “Yeah, why not? The theme song is gold. Hey, have them give her a theme song! Something swingin’!”

-Twenty minutes later-

Music Department: “They want us to do what?!”
Post-Production: “Hey, man, don’t, uh, Batarang the messenger. They want a Batgirl theme song, probably about 45 seconds long, for a vehicle sequence.”

Music Department: “But what about lyrics? They’re the word people.”

Post-Production: “We have faith in you; the show’s theme song was a pretty big success, after all.”

Music Department: “The theme song is just the word ‘Batman’ over and over again.”

Post-Production: “Is it? Huh. Well, people like it! You’ll figure this one out, too. Just make sure it’s outta sight.”

-Two weeks later-

Writers: “What the hell is this?!”

Yes-men: “It’s, uh… modern.”

Writers: "We're never using this again." Yes-men: "That's probably for the best."

The reason I think that the song was last minute is because the whole thing is pick up like after pick up line. Though the lyrics are very 60s, so they're a bit difficult for a 21st century audience to understand. That's good, because over half of the audience in my home is under the age of six, and the content of the song isn't appropriate for that age group. It's also too bad, because I wouldn't mind if my three year old was singing anything other than the Batman theme at the top of her voice, every single moment of the day. Because this is The Internet (and also for my own amusement), I decided to translate Batgirl's disastrous theme song out of swingin' 60s slang and into the more comprehensible language of today. I can only assume that my version is a true-to-life representation of the way "hip" "young" people speak to one another in today's world. Batgirl, Batgirl!

Batgirl, Batgirl!

I would like to get to know you better.

Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?

Batgirl, Batgirl!

Batgirl, Batgirl!

Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

Those are some nice shoes. Do you want to make out?

Are you currently in a committed, exclusive relationship?

Batgirl, Batgirl!

Seriously, are you in a committed, exclusive relationship?

Batgirl!

Now all that's left is to put it to the original music. ...There might be just a few timing issues.

The Best Perspective

It’s hard being best friends with a superhero: they’re always ditching you at the last second to save a bus full of schoolchildren, you can’t tag them on instagram because that adorable selfie you took together was while they were in costume, and you may occasionally get kidnapped whenever a supervillain discovers your connection to their nemesis. There are good times, too, like when you get to hear about all of the disasters averted and the lives saved and the thanks given.

One evening I arrived home from band practice to find my best friend (who, in the interest of protecting her identity and mine, I will call “Awesome Girl”) sitting at our kitchen table. She had her mask off, her hair down, and her head in her hands. Her cape drifted listlessly from her shoulders down across the cheap linoleum floor. I propped my bass up against the dishwasher and pulled up a chair to plop down next to her.

Then I waited.

I had learned that “head in her hands” was not necessarily AGC (“Awesome Girl” Code) for “I tried to help someone today and failed.” Some days, she’d sit up and happily tell me that she had put a smile on a senior citizen’s face, or done a ribbon cutting at a pet shelter, or helped to find a lost autistic kid. Some days, she had sad stories to share, but we both knew that she needed me there at the end of the day to refocus, to laugh or cry with, and to remind her why she did what she did.

We sat in silence for twenty minutes, just listening to one another breathe. Though she didn’t know it, I kept glancing at the numbers glowing from the clock above the stove on the other side of the room, which told me it would soon be tomorrow instead of today. I didn’t usually mind sitting up late, but we both had classes the next morning, and homework was due in the literature class we shared; all I had left to do was write up a response to the reading assignment, but I knew she hadn’t even picked up the book yet.

Finally, when the clock read 11:48, “Awesome Girl” let out a huge sigh, sat up, and cast her mask to the other side of the table, where it slipped off the edge and fell onto the floor. Then she looked at me.

“What’s up?” I ventured.

“I just want to be normal,” she moaned. “I want to have a stupid crush, and to eat dinner at 9 PM, and to be in a terrible local band.” She slid an arm across the table and rested her head on it, looking at me sideways. “I want to be you.”

I blinked at her.

I did have a stupid crush on the star of our local semi-pro basketball team (who, in the interest of protecting the identities and gigantic egos of all involved, I will call “Taylor”). I had scarfed down some leftovers before the both of us left that evening (she to patrol, I to practice). And I was the bass player and lead singer of, admittedly, a pretty terrible garage band (which, in the interest of protecting the identities and feelings of my bandmates, I will call “Admittedly Pretty Terrible”). But other than that, we were basically the same person in all the “normal” ways. We were both a year away from graduating college. We both loved pizza. We both wanted to make the world a better place and were both using our own unique abilities to work toward that goal.

I knew that what she really meant was, “I’m tired, and it’s so hard for me to see when I’m making a difference. If I could see the world through your eyes, maybe I wouldn’t feel so down.”

So I said, “Have you not eaten dinner yet? We still have some pizza in the fridge from last night. Want me to heat it up for you?”

She gave me a tired smile, and sat up in her chair. “I’ll get it. You should go to bed.”

“No, that’s okay,” I replied. “You can get started on reading that thing for Lit class and I’ll get you something to eat.”

“I totally forgot about that!” she gasped, and dashed from the room.

When she came back, looking like a normal college student in some yoga pants and an old t-shirt, her too-hot pizza steamed delicious fragrances into the air, and a glass of ice sat next to a can of her favorite strawberry soda. She sighed in delight and sat down to get to work.

It’s hard being best friends with a superhero. The bad times aren’t great. Sometimes she’s a second too late to prevent catastrophe. Sometimes the population of the city she protects turns against her. Sometimes she has to save me from a supervillain. And sometimes, she has a burnout day. But the good times outweigh the bad, and when I can, I do whatever I need to do to help her save the world.

“Hey,” I said as I found a place to shove the pizza box into the fridge. “If you were serious earlier… our drummer quit today. You could fill in at our next gig, until we find someone else.”

“Seriously?” She laughed. “Yeah, all right.”

I turned to leave the room.

“Wait,” she called after me. When I stuck my head back into the kitchen, she said, “You’re awesome.”

“Well,” I replied, “So are you.”

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Super

"Oh Steve, you know you can't beat
the Nazis without me!" (tv.com)

My daughters have recently become interested in super heroes. It started with watching a couple of old 70s Wonder Woman episodes on Saturday nights with my dad. Then I picked up a pair of cape shirts for them at Target. We went to the library and borrowed a copy of The Princess in Black. The other day I heard my daughter singing her own lyrics to the Batman theme song: “Batgirl, Batgirl, she chases bad guys and runs away from them, and catches them sometimes, she’s a super hero, not a princess; Batgirl!”

I’m not a super hero, but that doesn’t stop my three year old from warming my heart when she says, “You’re the best, Mommy!” So I started to think about what super powers I do have. I can’t fly or do fancy martial arts, but I do have amazing ears.

People always say that moms have eyes in the back of their heads, but it’s not true. Vision has nothing to do with it. Moms have super hearing. I can tell if my kid is sick in the middle of the night or just having a bad dream, determine whether there are shenanigans during a suspicious silence, or know if the baby is crying because he is hungry or tired.

It may not be the most interesting power, but it really helps me out a lot. And just because I don’t run around at night chasing bad guys (or running away from them), doesn’t mean I can’t tie a blanket around my shoulders and chase my kids (and tickle them sometimes)!