Back to Bitching
So I've been back from my vacation for about three weeks. I started writing a post detailing my adventure but its taking way too long, and frankly, I'm losing the motivation to continue it. I guess I'm going to throw her on the back burner for now, but I plan on making a separate web page dedicated to it. Its far too extensive to practically fit in a single post.
Anyways, sometime last week I started listening to the Coast to Coast radio show again after about a 2 year hiatus. (I think I stopped sometime after Art Bell went into one of his "retirements", nothing against George Noory, but Art is the man.) I catch it on my way to work at the hellishly early hour of 3:30am, so I usually only get to enjoy the last half hour or so. I'm really not sure if its the program's content or the half-wits who call into the show that entertain me more. The subject matter and ideas presented usually have a supernatural, paranormal, conspiracy theory, etc. bent with legitimacy ranging from utterly misbegotten to scientifically plausible. Despite where the topic falls within this spectrum, I typically find it at least moderately interesting. Although, when I hear, "Hello East of the Rockies, you're on the air...", I feel nothing short of school girl giddiness. This usually means I get to spend the next minute listening to some dolt trying to find a way to relate his personal story of alien-abduction derived trauma to whatever the hell the show's actual theme happens to be. The guest for the night could be an expert in seismology, pandemic disease, nanotechnology, Sumerian civilization, but it doesn't matter to John Q. Cracker --- he wants to let the world know that the ailyuns ar cummin n we aint gonna stoppum. The true enjoyment, though, is listening to host and guest squirm around trying to be polite and offer some sort of relevant commentary on this OxyContin induced paranoia. C'mon people, no need to pander, just tell the guy he's a nob and move right into the usual next ten minutes of hawking solar powered radios and herbal sex enhancement supplements.
As usual, I digress. I'm not sure if I have a point to get to, but what I was really trying to say is that last week I was listening to Coast to Coast late Sunday/early Monday and Art's hosting because its the weekend. I don't know what it is, but the bumper music he plays always happens to be some song I remember from childhood that I liked at one time, but have long since forgotten. Well, he ends up playing In Your Wildest Dreams by The Moody Blues. So I intently listen to the song and begin to think that the lyrics metaphorically represent some universal truth about our separation from the ALL and our yearning and struggle to return to it. Later in the day, at work, and I'm still bouncing the idea around in my noggin. The only other permeating thought is getting home so I can check out some more Moody Blues because these folks are obviously brilliant. Well needless to say, I get home and fire up the...uh... iTunes so I can begin voraciously downloading little bits( nyuk, nyuk) of heaven. But of course reality bites and imagine my horror when I see Nights in White Satin - The Moody Blues . They do that song? Aw man... and what's this? I'm Just a Singer in a Rock 'n Roll Band? Dammit, these guys aren't enlightened, they're ass. And check out their website , oh how very deceptive they are. A visual representation of the golden mean and all that new age celestial imagery. Well I guess the moral to this story is DON'T THINK, especially at work. I know I sure learned my lesson, although I still have to admit In Your Wildest Dreams is pretty damn catchy in that synthy verse/chorus/verse sort of way. But if I ever again feel compelled to listen to 80's pop music for substance, I'll stick to Jackson Browne's Lawyers In Love.
Anyways, sometime last week I started listening to the Coast to Coast radio show again after about a 2 year hiatus. (I think I stopped sometime after Art Bell went into one of his "retirements", nothing against George Noory, but Art is the man.) I catch it on my way to work at the hellishly early hour of 3:30am, so I usually only get to enjoy the last half hour or so. I'm really not sure if its the program's content or the half-wits who call into the show that entertain me more. The subject matter and ideas presented usually have a supernatural, paranormal, conspiracy theory, etc. bent with legitimacy ranging from utterly misbegotten to scientifically plausible. Despite where the topic falls within this spectrum, I typically find it at least moderately interesting. Although, when I hear, "Hello East of the Rockies, you're on the air...", I feel nothing short of school girl giddiness. This usually means I get to spend the next minute listening to some dolt trying to find a way to relate his personal story of alien-abduction derived trauma to whatever the hell the show's actual theme happens to be. The guest for the night could be an expert in seismology, pandemic disease, nanotechnology, Sumerian civilization, but it doesn't matter to John Q. Cracker --- he wants to let the world know that the ailyuns ar cummin n we aint gonna stoppum. The true enjoyment, though, is listening to host and guest squirm around trying to be polite and offer some sort of relevant commentary on this OxyContin induced paranoia. C'mon people, no need to pander, just tell the guy he's a nob and move right into the usual next ten minutes of hawking solar powered radios and herbal sex enhancement supplements.
As usual, I digress. I'm not sure if I have a point to get to, but what I was really trying to say is that last week I was listening to Coast to Coast late Sunday/early Monday and Art's hosting because its the weekend. I don't know what it is, but the bumper music he plays always happens to be some song I remember from childhood that I liked at one time, but have long since forgotten. Well, he ends up playing In Your Wildest Dreams by The Moody Blues. So I intently listen to the song and begin to think that the lyrics metaphorically represent some universal truth about our separation from the ALL and our yearning and struggle to return to it. Later in the day, at work, and I'm still bouncing the idea around in my noggin. The only other permeating thought is getting home so I can check out some more Moody Blues because these folks are obviously brilliant. Well needless to say, I get home and fire up the...uh... iTunes so I can begin voraciously downloading little bits( nyuk, nyuk) of heaven. But of course reality bites and imagine my horror when I see Nights in White Satin - The Moody Blues . They do that song? Aw man... and what's this? I'm Just a Singer in a Rock 'n Roll Band? Dammit, these guys aren't enlightened, they're ass. And check out their website , oh how very deceptive they are. A visual representation of the golden mean and all that new age celestial imagery. Well I guess the moral to this story is DON'T THINK, especially at work. I know I sure learned my lesson, although I still have to admit In Your Wildest Dreams is pretty damn catchy in that synthy verse/chorus/verse sort of way. But if I ever again feel compelled to listen to 80's pop music for substance, I'll stick to Jackson Browne's Lawyers In Love.
posted by vic at 4:49 PM
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