A modest proposal on the Spanish version of the National Anthem ....

.... partly because I am patriotic, and love to reconcile feuding factions, but mainly because Carmen and I don't have a lot to do on a Monday evening where PBS is having its pledge drive.

First of all, how many of you actually know the Star Spangled Banner? And how many of you can honestly sing it? Of those few who think they can sing it, are you willing to try it in public, before an audience of friends, neighbors and family members (who will never, ever, forget your attempt)?

OK - if you can stand up in public, sing the entire Star Spangled Banner without suddenly humming along somewhere in the second verse, THEN we will listen to your opinion on whether or not translating it into Spanish is acceptable.

And you should also know that Francis Scott Key stole the tune. Originally it was a rather bizarre little drinking song for a club of wealthy aristocrats who got together to celebrate music, wine and food! It was called The Anacreontic Club and their theme song was "Anacreon in Heaven." Here are the lyrics - try to sing along with the tune of Star Spangled Banner. (btw, if you look at the lyrics carefully you will see that the club was celebrating something more than music, wine and food)

To Anacreon in heaven where he sat in full glee,
A few sons of harmony sent a petition,
That he their inspirer and patron would be,
When this answer arrived from the jolly old Grecian:
Voice, fiddle aud flute, no longer be mute,
I'll lend you my name and inspire you to boot!
And besides I'll instruct you like me to entwine
The myrtle of Venus and Bacchus's vine.

The news through Olympus immediately flew,
When old Thunder pretended to give himself airs,
If these mortals are suffered their scheme to pursue,
The devil a goddess will stay above stairs,
Hark! already they cry, in transports of joy,
A fig for Parnassus, to Rowley's we'll fly,
And there my good fellows, we'll learn to entwine
The myrtle of Venus and Bacchus's vine.

The yellow-haired god, and his nine fusty maids,
To the hill of old Lud will incontinent flee,
Idalia will boast but of tenantless shades,
And the biforked hill a mere desert will be,
My thunder, no fear on't, will soon do its errand,
And, damn me I'll swinge the ringleaders, I warrant
I'll trim the young dogs, for thus daring to twine
The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's vine.

Apollo rose up and said, "Prythee ne'er quarrel,
Good king of the gods, with my votaries below
Your thunder is useless - then showing his laurel,
Cried, Sic evitabile fulmen, you know!
Then over each head my laurels I'll spread,
So my sons from your crackers no mischief shall dread
Whilst snug in their club-room, they jovially twine
The myrtle of Venus and Bacchus's vine.