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The Summer Andy Calvert Had Electric Light Orchestra's "Living Thing" Stuck In His Head By Tim Boisvert In the summer of his 18th year, Andy Calvert went to work at the Grass Valley Lodge in lush Grass Valley, California. He would spend the summer there as an assistant to the chef. While there he would live somewhat rustically, although equipped with electricity and most of the amenities he was accustomed to having at his home in San Jose. The night before he left home to travel to the Lodge, he gathered with some of his closest friends and spent the evening in a festive manner, knowing that it would be months before he'd see them again. They ate and drank, and watched P.T. Anderson's brilliant "Boogie Nights," a tale of the pornographic film industry in Los Angeles in the 1970's. The movie featured songs from the era, including "Living Thing," a mildly popular tune by Electric Light Orchestra. Andy enjoyed the song, and sang it to himself as he drove home that evening. The next morning, Andy packed up his life and drove to Grass Valley, where he arrived late in the afternoon. He was shown his living quarters and made an attempt at getting settled in. At around 9 PM that evening, while walking from his dormitory to the Lodge, he noticed that the tune of "Living Thing" was still in his head, so he took the pleasure of singing along with it. All through the evening, until he bedded down for the night, he sang the song, and at 11:45 PM he laughed out loud when he realized that he was unable to remove the song from his head. He went to bed, fading out somewhere in the middle of singing the second verse of the song to himself for the 23rd time. Andy awoke at 6:30 the next morning to begin his first day on the job. He was a prep cook, the person in charge of preparing all of the materials so that the chef could come in and take care of the actual cooking when it was ordered. The special that day was the Denver Omelette, he told me later, and while he cut the onions and peppers he found himself singing the words of "Living Thing" yet again. The night had come and gone and the song was still stuck in his head! He cursed for a moment, and then tried to drown it out by audibly singing Fountains of Wayne's "Radiation Vibe." He was successful in his pursuit, and "Living Thing" disappeared from his mind. He made it through the remainder of the day without incident. Andy's days at the Lodge were relatively monotonous -- he had a strictly set schedule that allowed him little free time to pursue hobbies or entertainment. He was there for the money, after all, and he would have plenty of time to play when he entered university in the fall. For the time being, though, his goal was to work hard and make enough money to pay for the school year's expenses. And so, Andy focused on his work, not allowing himself to be distracted from the tasks at hand each day. On his second day of work, a Sunday, Andy spent the morning preparing for the brunch. There were meats to cut, eggs to beat, breads to slice, fruits and vegetables to be placed on trays, and juices to mix. At 9:45 AM, just 15 minutes before the start of the brunch, and the time when his energy and focus was needed the most in order to complete the preparations, "Living Thing" found its way back into the forefront of Andy's mind. He laughed at first, much like he had on the first night he had been stuck with it, but his feelings were soon soured when he was accused of putting too many eggs in the souffle. It could only have been "Living Thing," he said, that had caused him to lose focus, and therefore to experience his first failure on the job at the Lodge. He cursed again, and a tear formed his eye, and he said to himself in that moment that he hated "Living Thing." He would never sing it again. The chastisement had sent "Living Thing" packing from his mind, and Andy never wanted to hear it again. But, true enough, "Living Thing" remained with Andy, never far from his tongue. On the third day it came into his head, and again on the fifth day, a Wednesday. That day Andy had woken up in bright mood, aware of the fact that he hadn't felt the urge to sing "Living Thing" the previous day. As soon as he thought that, though, he heard the music in his head and began to sing along once again. "It's a living thing, it's a terrible thing to lose." Andy found a corner of the kitchen, secluded and safe from his fellow employees, sat down, and wept. By the 12th day of his misery, Andy was a nervous wreck. The previous few days had seen the song greet him in the morning and stay with him until he slept at night, and one night he had even dreamed that he was on stage with Electric Light Orchestra, singing along to the song. Andy took confidence and spoke with his boss, Trey, about the problem, unsure of how he would be received. Gratefully, Trey had passed through a similar ordeal several years before, and he told Andy that the remedy was simple: find the song and listen to it all the way through. Andy accepted this counsel, but as he left Trey's office he realized that he didn't have any way of listening to the song. He had seen it in a movie, if you remember, and there were no video rental stores anywhere near the Lodge. He hadn't brought his compact disc player with him, and he was reluctant to ask to borrow one from any of his co-workers. But even if he did somehow come in contact with a player, he had no idea where to find the music. Perhaps he would call his parents and have them find a copy and send it to him. From that day forward, when Andy worked, he listened to a small radio, hoping to hear the song. It was old, probably as old as the song, and only received signals from three radio stations, two of which played country music. The other one featured a 24-hour news feed. Andy never heard "Living Thing" played on either of the three stations, but the simple act of filling the kitchen with noise kept "Living Thing" away. It was only during the times that he was away from the radio that he heard the song in his mind. And time began to soften him toward the song. During the second week, when the pain was at its height, Andy sang the song up to 14 hours every day, every minute against his truest wishes. With the radio on, he only had to hear it for five or six hours per day, which Andy could easily tolerate with a bit of strength and determination. The summer went on, and "Living Thing" stayed with Andy. The weeks were flying by, it seemed, and the time when Andy would be going home was approaching. He had been there for over two months. School would start soon, and he would spent a few days at home before moving into his dormitory at the university, which was located just an hour from the comfort of his family's home. He missed them, and his summer away had bolstered his love and respect for them. Andy had begun to find deep philosophical meaning in the words of "Living Thing," thoughts about the power of love and the depth of commitment required of him in order to pursue his life's course. The song was his life force, it seemed, like a bedtime story that can be read out loud hundreds of times without tiring its listeners. On the day Andy arrived home upon completion of his summer in the mountains, his first thought was to drive to Blockbuster and rent "Boogie Nights," and finally be rid of "Living Thing." While he drove, though, across the city of San Jose, he felt his attachment to the song. It was the master and he was the slave; while it was evil in nature, it had brought him religion and the ability to concentrate, and most of all the gift of self-assurance. Would he really want to live his life without the song in his head at all times? He had loved it for a brief moment, and then his love had turned sour when the words of the song refused to leave him alone. And then he had become one with the song, like an abrasive spouse. Life with it was tough, but saying goodbye forever could be unbearable. Andy ultimately chose freedom and an empty mind. He drove home with the movie and fast-forwarded to the part with the song. And there, in the family room of his parents' home, with his eyes closed and a stream of tears running down his face, Andy Calvert and the song that had haunted him for an entire summer parted ways for the last time. Andy awoke the next morning with a clear mind and no sign of "Living Thing," nor any of the many majestic works of Electric Light Orchestra. 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