Shaka-laka wha?

Ok, so I"m sitting here in front of my TV as I compose this (still relatively immoble in my post-surgical state). Suffering from repetitive viewing boredom syndrome I have tuned in to the Annual Thanksgiving Day Macy's Parade on NBC. Now, I lived in New York for close to eight years and I love the city. In fact, unlike most of my countrymen (and women, lest I be accused of not being PC, God forbid) I have a soft spot for the entire US of A. So this is most certainly NOT about bashing our southern neighbors. But HELLO? Shaka-laka baby?

Before I lose you completely, I will describe what I see on the screen. The parade began a short half hour ago. At its embarkation point, many "acts" perform a scene or two from various current productions. Most are of the family oriented, relatively cheesy variety, as one would encounter sitting in a 43rd St. theatre after purchasing an "I love NY" travel package, including discount charter flight tickets in the back row of a plane where you got jammed in between Mr. Big Elbows Smelly Farts and Ms. Fidget Fusspot Can I have a blanket.... Can I have a glass of water... No, I said sparkling water (no she didn't), a ground floor room in a Times Square Hotel facing the back, beside the elevator and two tickets to the Latest, Greatest, Most Popular Broadway show since Cats......... Lots of All American smiles, syrupy lyrics and costumes that look like last season's Gap catalog.

Now all this is fine, really, it is. Families all across America are playing variations on the same tune: Dad half-heartedly amusing the kids with the parade on TV while he struggles to decide which football game to watch this afternoon and Mom panicking about how to defrost the turkey she forgot to take out of the freezer last night. The kids are happy as they don't have to go to school. And hey, would you rather they be watching a Jerry Springer re-run? The one where Mary Ann bitch-slaps Jamal for ogling Sheena who is parading around topless with that, "I f**ked your man last night" strut? (as the fight breaks up, Jerry tells the audience that Sheena is Mary Ann's mother.... but that's a whole other story). I digress...

The point is that they really lost me with the production featuring Shaka-laka Baby. Now I'm all for diversity. I want people (especially myopic sheltered midwesterners... was that my outloud voice?) to get exposed to other cultures. I want people to get to know and tolerate foreign traditions. But with Shaka-laka Baby the New York Broadway machine has, in one fell swoop, brought Bollywood to Disney and put Snow White in the leading role! Nowhere were the pangs of the sitar. Gone were sensual dance moves, over-slicked hair and poor subtitles. In their places were Britney-esque dance moves performed to pop-no-tech, perfect hair and make-up, and, dare I say it, costumes that look like they came from the Gap (gasp) in Mumbai. And maybe I could have endured all of that (being the open-minded, non-judgemental person that I am) if they hadn't opened their mouths and uttered that phrase (over and over and over again). Today will be one of those tortured days spent trying something, anything to get that melody out of my head. Shaka-laka Baby. Damn it.

As I look to the current highlighted act I see Ryan Cabrerra performing his Latest Greatest Hit from his perch on the Lego Float. I've had enough. But before I go, I must say:

Macy's, with your Shaka-laka singing, smily-faced, Gap-wearing, All American, Ronald McDonald love-fest, you need The Beats!