I'm a big music fan. In my office (particularly the newsroom) my affinity for the tunes gets swallowed up by a group of music connoisseurs or, in some cases, conno-sewer. On any given day, this group of music elitists will tout their endless knowledge of music (just look at Adam Goldstein's blog – www.brightonbullhorn.blogspot.com – a virtual mecca of obscure music that makes the sommeliers sniff with delight. Isn't Luis Jordan a relative of Michael Jordan? Between that and Allen Messick's persistent playing of Yonder There String Cheese Mountain Band (think elevator music meets Earl Scruggs) I must bury my eclectic iPod collection which includes Ashlee Simpson (uggh), Snow Patrol (so talented), Gwen Stefani (not as good the 1,000th time), and Fergie (yes, I am a 12-year-old girl by the way). But I like the impact of music in my life. I like how a good song can boost your day, I like how a somber song can cause reflection (insert bad mirror joke). Just this morning, I had an ironic music moment. Shivering in my cold car, a local country station was playing Kenney Chesney's "No shirt, no shoes, no problem." The idea (while not feasible under the circumstances due to potential problems of hypothermia) did make me long for the allure of a Hawaiian beach or perhaps a January outdoor hockey game in Buffalo. Care to share what you're listening to on your iPod? Not you, Goldstein, there's no room for Captain Beefheart on here and Steve don't bother with your all star tribute to Burl Ives, not interested!
