I don't appreciate being boned in the ass by the morning staff.
And, thus, my lack of appreciation for "Mike-FM" here, as foisted upon us by Infinity.
Are you familiar with Mike? Or Frank? Or Jack?
The premise is that THERE'S NO DJ!!!!!! And, on top of that, the playlist appears to not follow a particular format/playlist. This is because some marketing people told the radio suits that a lot of us own I-pods, or some similar device. We all have a lot of interests, so our lists of MP-3s look like drunken train wrecks.
Well, I know mine does....I download a lot of music drunk. In fact I wake up with a lot of music that I look at with suspicious coyote morning overtones.
George Michael's "Faith" never needs to know it found its way to a hard drive if it never makes it to my pale, pale ear buds...
My WinAmp library tells me that it could play for, literally, 7 days straight without repeating a song.
That doesn't mean that everything should be there.
Let's get back to "Mike-FM". For crappolla in the morning.
6:12 in the AM and I hear Billy Squire, No Doubt and...Justin Timberlake.
Now, I'd ask you which of these three didn't belong, but I think we'd all differ.
But there's no DJ to call and berate. Mike-FM is all about automated. There's breakers. After every damn song. But no real people.
And I came to a disturbing conclusion: I'd rather listen to the most awful example of "morning show business" than be caught unawares and be boned in the ass aurally by Justin Timberlake.
I use my asshole to do stuff. Like shit on crappy pop music.
Basically, it comes down to this: we all have things on our MP-3 lists that we're not proud of. That actively stink. But, here's the thing:
There's some Shakira on my own playlist. I'll own up to this. I'm a little embarrassed by it if it comes on when other people are over. I hang with a more Social Distortion ready crowd.
Ultimately, people don't mind the smell of their own farts.
If Shakira comes up in the course of private listening in my home, I'll blush and secretly groove. It's my musical fart.
If Justin Timberlake comes up, unbidden, in the course of my listening experience in the car, I'm going to need to pull over and punch the person who did this to me until he cries "Safety" or, once the fart is out and he's being punched repeatedly , "Doorknob". I don't know why. That's just how we did things in college. Plus, Unbidden Timberlake is as insidious as a silent, but deadly, fart.