Music At Work

For some, religion and politics are divisive topics. I am not so troubled by either subject that I will become heated. As Jesse Young once sang: politics and business, I don't pay them no mind. For some perverse reason I reserve my ire for the truly unimportant subjects: reading material, headgear, and taste in music. Some say there is nothing more boring than a music snob. "Some" likely enjoyed a Justin Timberlake concert in the recent past. "Some" likely have Bon Jovi in heavy rotation on their mePods, 8-tracks, or what have you.

But I digress. The point of this post is not to put the point and marvel at the assistants in my office clamouring for Bon Jovi tickets or the new associate's primordial lust for Buns'n'Hoses. To question these people, as I do, as to what it is they see in this type of music. They appear to be in the majority and their tastes, however strange, do not appear to cause actual harm to themselves or others. I try not to get involved in their conversations about the latest reunion tour by some bunch of septuagenarians who said they'd never play with one another again! dammit especially after the last time they performed a lengthy sellout tour of baseball stadiums and hockey arenas, and the time before that. No, because I am too cool for that. My tastes are fucking legendary, mate, they are off the chart!

I stay in my office, maybe I listen to some Getz or Errol Garner. I'll hum bits and pieces of whatever is playing in my head. Occasionally I utter what few lyrics I have been able to make out and recollect. Sometimes it's something old and comforting. Sometimes it's something fresh to my ears. Sometimes something horrid leaks out, unbidden.

Case in point: the other day I walked out of my office to collect something from the printer. I was singing or humming something, I don't know, when one of my colleagues asked me: p-man, is that the Wiggles you're singing?

Why yes, yes it was. At sea I am, on a big red boat.

Ahoy mates,

p-man.