"Um, I Like Lots of Different Kinds of Music…"

I went to a Dave Matthews concert in Burbank with a boy who "wants to have his [Davey's] children." And, while I don't know if I want to bring any of Dave Matthews' children into the world, he is my favorite musical person. We took a limo to the concert (I know, I know…I live in LA.) and ran into some people that we knew there who wanted a ride back because they had to take a cab because it is absolutely impossible to get parking at the University of California, Los Angeles and so few of the babies in the dorms have cars, so they had to take a cab to the concert and it was very sad because it was a really long way and it was really expensive and I opened my big mouth and told them that they could ride back with us because there was a whole lot of room in the limousine. But, as it turns out, we didn't have the limo on the way back. And, instead, we had some sort of Cadillac with some icky guy who couldn't speak any English and there wasn't enough room for the people that we had met and they had to take a cab back again, and I felt really bad.

I don't know if living in Mississippi desensitized me to the twang, but I really don't think that country music is all that bad. Some boy told me once that he didn't like country music because "people sing about losing things like their dogs." And, I must admit, that I have yet to hear a country song about missing dogs. You know it has to be good stuff with lyrics like, "Just call me Cleopatra, everybody, 'cause I'm the queen of denial," (Ms. Pam Tillis) and "Now I'm messed up in Mexico, livin' on refried dreams" (good ol' Timmy-boy McGraw). I wasn't always a fan of the stuff. I went to the Grand Ol' Opry when I was twelve and heard Garth Brooks and didn't walk away a country music lover. Nope. It wasn't until I spent a summer with my cousins in Wisconsin and listened to it over and over and over again that I returned home and found I missed the lonely southern gents and the defiant southern belles. And, thanks to Graylene Stevenson, I was able to see both the Dixie Chicks AND Tim-Boy live in concert (even though Gray-baby would have rather chewed off her own tongue). And, I must admit that seeing Tim McGraw in concert was slightly more exhilarating than even Mr. Matthews (It was the ass…and those catchy lyrics: "Down in Georgia…"). But, again, I think you can chalk it up to fuzzy southern memories more than anything else...

But I don’t want it to appear that my musical repertoire is so limited that if it ain’t country or Mr. Matthews, I’ll plug my ears...and while I won’t divulge the complete contents of my cd collection simply because I think I’d lose whatever respect I still have after admitting I willingly saw Tim McGraw in concert (I was just getting it out of my system before returning to LA...I promise), I’ll give you a smattering: Collective Soul, Billy Joel, Red Hot Chili Peppers (although, after living with Diane, I can’t bear to listen to it for awhile...), Third Eye Blind, Goo Goo Dolls, Sarah McLachlan, Edwin McCain (the “aww song” and the “fman song”), and the Pottery Barn (even though it was the communist cunt who introduced it to us and finding the stupid thing required a tri-state search).

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