I thought a fifteen-minute breather from the all-consuming thesis might do me well. I was wrong.
After running away from the typically over-friendly Lyndon LaRouche Youth and ducking into Rite Aid to pick up some Diet Dr. Pepper, I was struck by the most godawful yet infections lovesong ever written. "Glory of Love." I can't even recall who recorded it, but I mean it when I say that I loathe this song more than I detest being bombarded with petitions and political literature. The only thing worse than being subjected to the piece in its entirety is the fact that the guy in front of me in line, who was also parked three spots away from me, felt the need to whistle the tune loudly as he paid for his drugstore grub and then loaded it into his car. I thought I rid myself of the song when it ended and he had left the store, but the minute I walked out of Rite Aid, there it was again, loud enough to be heard from twenty feet away.
I switched on the radio, as my Rob Dickinson CD had already lapsed three times in the course of two days and I had nothing else on me. First stop, Indie, who happened to be playing the Strokes. I never really cared much for the band and this new album has done absolutely nothing to remedy that. I flipped over to KROQ. Pearl Jam. I spent four years of high school listening Eddie Vedder's folk-singer-on-metal voice through my sister's stereo. I could, quite frankly, live the rest of my life in peace if I never heard that band again. I flipped to Jack. It's some Chatsworth bar room sing-along number. I do not know this song, nor do I care to acquaint myself with it. So, I headed back to Indie, mostly because I'm not in the mood for the noise rock-meets- static interference that is KXLU in the North Valley. The Stokes were over, but the song has been replaced by commercials. So, I went back to KROQ and waited for Pearl Jam to end. By the time Johnny Cash covered Nine Inch Nails, the damage has been done. I couldn't even enjoy Cash's gravely delivery because "Glory of Love" has caused me to have flashbacks of waiting in the orthodontist's office with a broken wire piercing the inside of my cheek. Next time, I will think twice before I leave the house.