Like later, in “Where’s the beef,” I missed out on what was going on with this song, because I was living elsewhere in the world. Contact with American pop culture was intermittent in those days.

I really first heard of it was when I visited Mom after returning to America. My younger sisters lived with her. They loved this song, “My Sharona.” I’d heard little of it, or the Knack. When I mentioned that to them, they replied, “I’m getting a little sick of it. It’s being played all the time.”

This was nineteen seventy-nine, the middle of the disco reign. “My Sharona” was nothing like disco of the time. It reminded me of the early Brit invasion stuff, like “Bang the Gong,” in structure, but with less textures.

The song never really caught fire with me. I was immune to its spell. But – there’s always a but, isn’t there? “Welcome to Heaven.” “I’m made it to Heaven?” “Yes, but, it’s not what you think.” Or, “I love you, but — ”

Yeah. Fear the “but.”

But, I awoke with a variation of “My Sharona” in my head. Here’s Weird Al Yankovic with his parody song, “My Bologna.” It was all in nineteen seventy-nine, when nobody needed to remind the POTUS not to look at the sun without proper eye-protection.