'Her Eyes' trapped inside Weaver's head

For what seems like the last month and a half, I have had Pat Monahan's "Her Eyes" trapped on continuous repeat inside my brain.

This is only slightly an exaggeration. It hasn't been one constant stream of the song, but it has been more than usual, even after I dashed out to purchase Monahan's CD containing the song - usually the key to rendering the song nothing more than a harmless ditty and thus preparing me for the next musical number I can't get over.

"Her Eyes," for some reason, has been different. It hasn't taken much to get it going again, even though I've resorted to the most cruel of tricks and sung it over the phone to my younger brother in effort to pass the song along to his head.

Funny story: Right in the midst of the most gripping throes of the song, my brother called me up, all flabbergasted, and said, "I don't know how you did it!" and revealed a commercial for CBS' "Ghost Whisperer" used "Her Eyes" as its soundtrack.

Then he hung up the phone, spooked and utterly convinced his older brother had vast resources far beyond his imagination, an illusion I'm encouraging, as it greatly suits my purposes for mischief further on down the road.

Plus, any time I can have my name even remotely linked with Jennifer Love Hewitt, I'll take it. Va va va voom!

This is a song I've had going in my head the whole time as I've driven to assignments for work, put on pause while I've conducted my interviews, then played again as I drive back to work.

As far as songs goes, "Her Eyes" is not a bad one to be singing over and over and over again. The lyrics are awesome: "Her eyes/that's where hope lies/that's where blue skies/meet the sunrise/ Her eyes, that's where I go/when I go home," even if I don't currently have a "her" about whose eyes I can trumpet loudly.

It's a great song to be singing whilst in the shower, where the acoustics are ideal, but it's a nice tune to be singing anywhere, especially as one convinces oneself one has exactly replicated the point in the song where Monahan's singing at his loudest and most plaintive -

"Weaver, who sings that song?" a co-worker interrupts to ask.

"Pat Monahan, why?" I say, falling innocently into the loaded bear trap.

"Let's keep it that way," he responds.

Which is the exact opposite of helpful. And Pshaw to that! God said to make a joyful noise; there was nothing uttered about it having to actually sound good.