Thursday, June 7, 2007


My Tennessee-bred co-worker and I have a general agreement regarding the kind of music we listen to at work: she tries not to overwhelm me with country music, which I detest, and I try to refrain from exposing her to opera or hard rock (the day I played two straight hours of The Great Kat was really rough on her – I think her ears were bleeding after the first 30 seconds). We usually stick to contemporary pop music but, like an unhappy married couple, we stray every once in a while (Ooooohhhh… SNAP!!!). I must admit that the country station she listens to does come up with excellent promotions. The latest one involves winning tickets to a concert by some hayseed du jour whose name I’ve chosen to forget. The kicker: the concert’s in Vegas, and the “winner” gets tickets, airfare, accommodations, and even spending money. It’s a pretty good prize, so we’ve been listening to that station for the past few days in the hopes we can git’er dun. Over the course of this week, then, I’ve absorbed quite a deal of auditory punishment. One of the most annoying things about country music is the performers’ insistence on proving their “country-ness” throughout their lyrics. They constantly refer to themselves as “country boys” or “country gals,” make numerous references to their southern heritage, and pride themselves in their farmer’s tans – yesterday, for example, I heard four different songs mention tractors, three songs mention wild-eyed southern boys, and way too many instances of farmer’s tans to keep track of. This assault of blatant musical stupidity (and I use the word “musical” freely – “fecal” is a far more adequate descriptor) inspired me to once again use my free time wisely.

Submitted for your approval: The Microsoft Hit Wizard – Country Edition (click to enlarge).

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