I did a strange thing the other day.
While I waited outside my local Wal Greens for my pharmacist to do his job, I listened to NPR. On top of that, I actually reveled in the classical music featured in between reports. It’s not that either of those things are wrong or even evil. It’s just a damn odd thing for me to do.
Once in a bit I’ve been known listen to classical music in order to cleanse my aural palate.(I usually call it “clearing the baffles”.) A year’s worth of inadvertent Big Radio listening can gunk up your brain like you wouldn’t believe. The classics tend to scrape away the shallow Spears‘, both overrated Simpsons, and even the Chemical Romances. Lately, classical tunes have crept into my listening patterns more and more.
One of my favorites is the Hector Berlioz‘s “The Witches Sabbath“. You know, the song that Patrick Bergin turned on just before he was about to beat Julia Roberts for burning his eggs one time to many. Though I had first heard it in Music Appreciation class my freshman year at UAH; my first
thought-image tends to be of Roberts in that mediocre flick.
At that time WLRH was rockin’ me with a turn at Ravel’s “Bolero”
which made me think on Bo Derek sporting cornrows while running in slow-mo down a beach.
Ah, the beach.
Ah, Ms Derek. You are one of the few white women I know who can
wear beaded cornrows and get away with it. You score 10 curvy cool points for that.
Back in NPR land, I began wondering, ‘When exactly did I become
That Guy(tm)?’ You know, the guy that willingly listens to incessant
arguing over topics that have no clear solution but everybody
argues anyway cause it creates a neat soundbite.
Was it after I survived Carousel? Is this yet another affect of leaving the twenty-something universe?
Probably.
My only hope to retain any sort of a coolness factor is to become that well-educated lad who’s up on today’s topics and plays a Beethoven beat while enjoying some fava beans and a nice Chianti.
Yeah, that’s the only way I’ll stay gold.
