with a little luck, we can work it out
I have a confession to make. And not like one of those Augustine-ish confessions, one of these "I have normal human drives, desires, and faults" sorts of things, for one because it's 2007 and for another, I am not Catholic. I am so not Catholic that I'm not even entirely sure how the Pope feels about Jesus. Other has explained that Jesus is indeed big with Catholics, but from my rather disinterested perch outside the whole religious culture, the Pope seems to get more air time with the Catholics than Jesus himself does. Baptists, Methodists, they're crazy about Jesus, but the Catholics, meh. Of course, I vaguely remember from history classes that the whole Protestant vs. Catholic thing is a relatively recent development having to do with whether one should/needs a direct relationship with God or a mediated one, so the Christians who were all pissed off when Jesus got crucified must have been the precusors to today's Catholic, right? And that would also make sense with the whole mediation thing, because the Pope would be the guy to go to to get to Jesus. I recently learned that the same sort of schism occurred in Buddhism. Huh.
But hey, none of that has anything to do with the fact that I like lite rock.
O. There, I said it. Lite rock, with the light spelled wrong. I love it. There was some sort of coup at the pharmacy, I think having to do with switching over to cds of Christmas carols, but since December, the no no-repeat-workday country station is gone. And I'm surprised at the extent to which this change is improving my quality of life. Roberta Flack and Maxi Priest just take me back to a time where my astonishing beauty made people walk into things and where I actually wanted to work 12-hour days for $5 an hour before taxes even though my boss never let me. I know every single word to what must be three or four hundred songs that all sound the same. And I can barely summon a list of more than five songs that I heard last Saturday, even though I could (and kind of did, ach, confession number two!) sing along with every last one. It's almost like being hypnotized.
So, yeah, whatever. I suspect some of you have a lightening-bolt-guitar-shaped skeleton or two in your own closet as well. Mine happens to be duets with ridiculous lyrical allusions to sex and videos shot through gauze.
But hey, none of that has anything to do with the fact that I like lite rock.
O. There, I said it. Lite rock, with the light spelled wrong. I love it. There was some sort of coup at the pharmacy, I think having to do with switching over to cds of Christmas carols, but since December, the no no-repeat-workday country station is gone. And I'm surprised at the extent to which this change is improving my quality of life. Roberta Flack and Maxi Priest just take me back to a time where my astonishing beauty made people walk into things and where I actually wanted to work 12-hour days for $5 an hour before taxes even though my boss never let me. I know every single word to what must be three or four hundred songs that all sound the same. And I can barely summon a list of more than five songs that I heard last Saturday, even though I could (and kind of did, ach, confession number two!) sing along with every last one. It's almost like being hypnotized.
So, yeah, whatever. I suspect some of you have a lightening-bolt-guitar-shaped skeleton or two in your own closet as well. Mine happens to be duets with ridiculous lyrical allusions to sex and videos shot through gauze.
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