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Have ya’ll heard that song Goodies by Ciara?

Issue Date: Wednesday, Sept. 15, 2004

Can I be catty?

Saucer of milk? Table for one?

I’m a bit off of my game today. And by my game, if I mean, that I am rarely “on” then, yes, yes… that is exactly what I mean… then of course. By all means, please, continue.

Why, thank you.

There are few things that make me want to go postal quicker than Whitney Brown on Two For One Night down at the crack house. And sound is one of those things.

I have a pretty high tolerance for most things. Ignorance. Racism. Sizism. Agism. Cruelty to Pottery Barn workers… whatever. I can handle most of it. But I am pretty snobby about what goes into my ears.

I love music.

Looooooooooooove music ya’ll. Oh… and Q-Tips.

I am not saying that I have the best taste in music, really. I have been guilty of listening to everything from Depeche Mode to The Gaithers, The Florida Boys to Velvet Revolver, Willie Nelson to Casting Crowns. The net is wide, and my love for music runs deep.

But there is a range and pitch that hurts my head. There is a sound that causes me to lose track of thought and if the noise continues it scrambles any coherent notions.

Have ya’ll heard that song Goodies by Ciara?

Holy sweet Mary, mother of the baby Jesus.

That song is played over and over and over on the local pop 40 station here in Dallas. My co-worker listens to Kiss FM in her cubicle and that song seemingly circles the radio, then her monitor, it hovers over her work area… gathers strengths with the


then DIVES!, DIVES!, DIVES!, over the particle board separator thingy [that they use in cube farms to give one a sense of privacy] and pierces my frontal lobe.

I hate that song.

Or noise. Or whatever kids are calling it these days.

Much like I hate that certain register of tone that some women get when they get to be a certain age. Or maybe, just maybe they have always had it. One never knows. The one that sounds like the audible equivalent of that time your retarded cousin got into your uncle’s hooch and decided it was time to sing Evergreen … reeeeallly fast... and in a high B sharp… monotone.

Kinda makes you wanna punch them in the neck.

Not enough to hurt them, just enough to make it stop.

There is a lovely young woman that I have to listen to around here that sounds like that. I just heard someone else tell her, “You make people want to drive off of a bridge.”

That just about sums it up… doesn’t it?

By the way… I have several G-Mail invites, if you would like one, email me with the subject: G-Mail Lovah.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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