You Know What?

I really hate it when Blogger tells me I'm "Forbidden" from viewing my own freakin' blog. Yes, all it takes is hitting "Refresh" and I'm magically allowed again. But that's like my roommate telling me I can't go into my room and then relenting after I say, "Pretty please." Bite me, sez I. Not that you asked, bu Kiddo said that it was OK to blog out loud every once in a while recently. So there. Anyhow, today's post is about my thoughts about music. I can't help but think about it lately.

Have you ever noticed that every Mom 'n' Pop Thai restaurant has some form of snoozy adult contemporary radio playing? At least all of the ones I frequent do. Whatever - so long as I can get my regular helping of Lard Na (or Rad Na, or Lad Nar, or Rad Nar - it doesn't translate well), I'm good. I can manage the occasional dose of cheesy love song dedications if there's something yummy to distract me. But when The Princess and I are trying very hard to discuss important issues (her upcoming Roller Disco party, our next trip to San Francisco, etc.), Michael Bolton is an evil curve ball to throw a boy's way. I may have to start bringing my iPod just in case I need a little PJ Harvey to scare the power ballads away.

At the gym, I usually have the 'Pod blasting as I sweat (Cyndi Lauper's been the workout du jour as of late) on the treadmill or ellipitical or train the circuit. All they have in that room are two TVs and the chatter of morons on their cell phones. The free weight room is another matter. They have no TV and the weirdest soundtrack ever. The first time I worked out in there, it was a hair rock reunion. I'm talkin' Warrant and Whitesnake, here. You could practically smell the aerosol. Finally the Pretenders "Back On The Chain Gang" saved my ass. The next time I went in, I expected something similar. Instead, I got an earful of "Whoomp! There It Is" and some of the hottest south of 1994. Remember "Poison" by Bell Biv DeVoe? So does some sick bastard at my gym. The free weight gods have been kinder as of late - I got a nice block of '80s hits the last few times.

At work, we have the worst hold music in the world. I know this for two reasons: I have to transfer a fair share of calls to other departments, thus, I am on hold a few times a day. I also know this because I was recently selected to be "The Voice" of our new phone system. (Don't get too excited for me - all I got was a free floating holiday,, although I hear I may get paid to do a radio spot...) Over the course of my little recording sessions, I've become quite intimate with the awful smooth jazz guitar my voice will be paired with. I don't know which I hate more - the music or having to hear my own voice try to sell me banking products.

My favorite music of late is during my Pilates class. My teacher fluctuates between classical and Tibetan monks. She has a fear of the throat singing, which amuse the cruel bastard in me, but mostly I just like the relaxation. Although it is a little weird to do a jackknife to Pachebel's Canon in D, I must say. I always expect an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting to break out. I've never been, but I imagine that it's like a Pilates class, only with coffee and donuts.

Anyhow, that's my ramble for the evening. We now resume our regularly scheduled program...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Pilot Radio Committee.