Wednesday, February 6, 2008


We have a CD rack with actual CD’s. My colleagues likely find this a curiosity, since their music collection consists of mere 1’s and 0’s. I, on the other hand, download internet music and promptly burn it to a CD. Yes, I’m that old-school. (I can remember the days when I owned vinyl and resisted tapes because—duh!—“I can always record an album to a tape.” And now? Well, let’s just say I do like me some liner notes, lyric sheets and thank you lists.)

Heather and I are quite varied in our musical taste. I juxtapose now, in alphabetical order. We have…

Abba and Audioslave
Barry Manilow and Barenaked Ladies
Chicago and Counting Crows
Diana Krull and Dave Matthews
Gloria Estefan and Gin Blossoms
Huey Lewis and Howie Day
Jon Secada and Jack Johnson
Mr. Mister and Mat Kearney
Paul Potts and Pearl Jam
Steve Winwood and Switchfoot
Toto and Train

(And did I mention she enjoys *sigh* singing along with The Carpenters?)

I must say, though: when it comes to musical taste, I feel that she is at a slight disadvantage, because, though I do in fact enjoy listening to everything on her list, she does not like listening to Creed (or anything on my list, for that matter).

Yes, it’s true, even I have been known to purchase Burt Bacharach, Frank Sinatra and, dare I say, Jim Croce. With lyrics like “meaner than a junkyard dog”, you simply “don’t mess around with Jim.”

Troy and I have musical tastes that overlap somewhere in the middle and then spread out in opposite directions. I purchase things like Abba, The Carpenters, Gloria Estefan, David Crowder Band and Barry Manilow (on a recent binge when I found a site where I can buy MP3s for $.09! I don’t care what you say about Barry, dang it, he does write the songs that make the young girls cry. The nostalgic almost 40’s too.)

Troy likes the Cranberries, I hate the way the lead singer “yodels” in some of her songs. He rolls his eyes when I listen to the Cars. Whenever we go on a road-trip, we have a music rotation. Kids get to pick one, Mom gets to pick one, Dad gets to pick one. It keeps us all from going nuts. Of course, now that Meaghan has her own little pink MP3 player, she can listen to what she wants. Problem is, she likes to sing along!

Troy will tell you that I’m the picky one; that he “likes” all my music and that I just don’t like his. True, I only tolerate the soundtrack to “Cats”. However, in my defense, I can tell you that he has NEVER EVER gone to the CD rack and willingly taken out my ABBA Gold CD and pressed play. No sirreebob.

1 comment:

paulo said...

sounds like meg takes after her mom in singing along. ;) and there's nothing wrong with the cranberries.