Classic Rock

So lately my work's satellite radio system has been turned to Christmas music. I know that that's not exactly being completely inclusive on the whole holiday thing, but my work doesn't seem to care about making sure there's a good selection of Kwanzaa songs on the radio, so that's what we were stuck with. Not that I know any Kwanzaa carols. Are there any? Please excuse my ignorance. I digress. The Christmas music lasted well into last week, and got very very sickening. I'm happy that it changed today.

What makes me even happier is that it switched to classic rock, and that's actually palatable to me. Surprise, surprise. Of course, it really won't be long until one of my coworkers complains about the music to the powers that be. Yes indeed, we've been down this road before, and the huge contingent of middle-aged women in my office building does not have a soft spot (or any other kind of spot, for that matter) for classic rock. Let's step away from the spots of middle-aged women. They don't like listening to Steppenwolf. They will complain. Post haste.

Not that that's really my kind of music either, but it's a heck of a lot closer than either the incredibly stale Aaron Neville Christmas carols that have been playing or the Fergie Filth of yestermonth.

I'm trying (desperately) to get some friends together to go skiing this weekend. My lovely wife gave me a gift card to Afton Alps for Christmas, and it's burning a hole in my pocket. (It's even more down to the wire now, because I start classes on the 14th and have a stupid Saturday class this semester). The huge problem is that now all of my friends (and myself of course) have gotten old, and require Hall Passes to ditch family life and hang out with the boys. I'M SO OLD! Hopefully it all works out. Ryan confirmed, so I'm going skiing no matter what. It would be a bummer to go to Afton and not have Reuben there, though. He's always chomping at the bit to go skiing. WE'RE SO OLD!

Which brings me to music. The combined acts of being old and being in school have really put my band, Jabberwocky, on permanent hold. It's unfortunate, because I love the band and our music and our members. I brewed beer this weekend with two of the guys, Ryan and Chad, and we all expressed the desire to get back into it and play some music. All of us pretty much agreed that we don't ever want to get into the whole Midnight slot at the Fineline on a Tuesday thing anymore, though, so we were having a nice, healthy talk about possible different directions. Like playing nothing but improvisational blues, and seeing if we can force our way far enough into the "jazz" genre to play at a jazz club. Hah. Or playing some punk rock. That would rule.

There was also talk about playing with other people to see where that goes. That seems like breaking up with an old girlfriend, though, especially since the talk still included all three of us in the same band. Seems shady, but to justify this type of conversation, the other member might have a good deal of trouble playing any gigs or even practicing any more. He's a busy guy. We all are, of course, myself more than included. I want to jam in a basement. That would do me just fine. Gigs are cool and all. OK I'm rambling.

That's all for now. I could go on and on today, it seems, but I'd rather conserve a bit of my inner monologue for the rest of the week. Happy Monday.