Thursday, February 23, 2006

Na Na Na, Na Na Na Na Na

Despite the vision of paradise that I'm sure our marriage presents to the outside world (kidding), Mr. E and I have our occasional disagreements. Although to be fair we're much better than we used to be. No one's called us The Bickersons (to our faces) for months now. Mostly we're just sad no one bought us the Hulk Hands we registered for when we got married because sometimes it seems like a good wrestle would just clear some things up. I guess because we're both kind of antagonistic. Me, in an in your face kind of way and Mr. E in a world record passive agressive kind of way. If we were dogs I'd be the kind that grabs onto your pants hem and yips incessantly while refusing to let go. Mr. E would be the kind of dog that lopes along doing whatever he wants and ignoring you no matter how much you yip at him. Despite all of this, the only thing that we really really deep down disagree on is music. We just can't wrap our heads around the kind of music the other person wants to listen to.

Plus, I swear Mr. E uses music specifically to annoy the shit out of me. This morning while I was getting ready for work he played that craptacular Kylie Minogue song "Can't Get You Out of My Head" THREE times. Jesus, that is a terrible terrible song. Why anyone would want to hear it twice, I can't imagine. Three times is just cruel.

I suppose I should just be happy it wasn't the maudlin tones of the latest fashionable indie rocker (Sufjan, I'm talking to you) committing audible suicide in the name of "music". I still have nightmares over the lengthy Bjork 107 Steps incident of 2000-2001. Wailing is not singing, people, it's just not.

When Mr. E was in college his whole family thought he must be gay because he wouldn't stop listening to Liz Phair. (hee) I didn't realize this until after I asked (years later) why they were all so happy to meet me.

Mr. E doesn't believe that I don't like the Beatles. But really, I don't. At all.

I prefer music that doesn't jangle my delicate nerves. Soothing, quiet music that makes me feel happy, or at least calm. Music that's not sung by someone who maybe stabbed themselves just to put themselves out of their misery. I'd be perfectly happy listening to "Brown Eyes Blue" by Crystal Gayle on repeat for the rest of my life. Maybe mix it up with some Prince once in awhile, and be done with it.

In other words,

I don't care where we go
I don't care what we do
I don't care pretty baby
Just stop listening to Radiohead.

2 comments:

LME said...

Ah ha ha ha!

The Mister isn't much of a music connoisseur. He has about three or four CD's, and one of them is a John Cougar Mellencamp Greatest Hits.

I used to kind of like The Coug.

But now, I run screaming when I hear one of his songs, because I have been on one too many car trips where the Mister will incessantly play that CD.

sarah said...

I suppose I should just be happy it wasn't the maudlin tones of the latest fashionable indie rocker (Sufjan, I'm talking to you) committing audible suicide in the name of "music".

Elizabeth, I am finally delurking to say: you can lay the blame for that on me 100%. It's not his fault.