I'm Not Afraid of Dennis Rodman, But I AM Afraid of Ole Einar Bjørndalen

The radio has been being heard a lot by me over the past couple weeks. I emphasize the passive voice because I feel that it's shameful to voluntarily listen to the radio. Listening to the radio on purpose is the equivalent to going to a vast buffet bursting with wonderful, succulent foods from all over the world, and then letting some bald greasy guy hand feed you one chicken gizzard after another. And about once every hour or so, he dropkicks you in the gut so you barf out the gizzards he just fed you, and then he feeds them to you again. That's what listening to the radio on purpose is like.

I hear the radio a lot because I've been hanging out at a waterpark. They play this one radio station that is supposed to play songs "from the nineties to now," except really all they play is like twelve songs over and over. Like they play this one song all the time that has a beat like "We Will Rock You." Do you think it reflects disfavorably on me that Queen is basically my reference point for everything? ("Nice mustache! It's three-fourths of a Freddy Mercury." "I really liked your jumping splits, but where was your campy Freddy Mercury yowl?" "You're putting a lot of effort into your white-man 'fro, but it's only about a tenth of a Brian May." "I'm impressed that you wear that tight singlet around town despite the fact that you're a male, but you're only about 8% of the way to going fully Queen.")

Silver Lake, Utah, 4th of July.
They also throw in a Taylor Swift song or two. Or 90. What I like about Taylor Swift is that at least she gives us some variety in her music. We might get the song about how she's mad at a boy, or we might get the song about how she's mad at a girl. It's like the world is your oyster when you're jamming Taylor Swift. And inside the oyster is poop. By the way, ever noticed that Taylor Swift cannot rhyme to save her life? "Can't" and "understand" don't rhyme. But "pop star" and "crop czar" do. I'm just saying.

Sometimes they play a Sugar Ray song, because it's July. Summer is the realm of Sugar Ray, much like elevators are the realm of Celine Dion. As a sidenote, I think Sugar Ray gets the prize for Most Incoherent Verse Ever. It goes, if I remember right, "All around the world statues crumble for me/who knows how long I've loved you/everywhere I go people stop and they see/25 years old/my mother, God bless her soul." What does that even mean?  Who's 25 years old here, me or my mom? Does my mom know how long I've loved you? Is that why God's blessing her, or did he bless her to know how long I've loved you? Why are statutes crumbling? Are people stopping to see the statutes falling over, or are they stopping to see my mom? It's giving me a headache. I think I'm going to buy me a Sugar Ray album, because headaches make me feel alive.

If I could be reincarnated as anything, I would want to be reincarnated as the guy who sings background in the Sugar Ray song "Fly." ("Haba haba haba haba up in da sky so high.") What a legacy!

Then, if we're lucky, we get a Lady Gaga song, hopefully the one where other people sing and not her. That's a genius move. Other people sing, and she gets to put her name on it. And wear meat. Holy waste of a human being, Batman.

Today they threw in a twist and played "Don't Stand So Close to Me" by the Police. But they called it "Don't Stand So Close," which tells me that the DJ had never actually listened to the whole song, she just listened to the chorus for like four seconds, and then she played it. This song is not from the nineties, nor is it from today, but I didn't complain, because I like that the song rhymes "cough" with "Nabokov." I don't know who Nabokov is, but I'm thinking he was okay at hockey or the biathlon. BTW -- all athletes, including football players and rugby players and triathletes, are total wimp sissy pansy girly underpant wearers compared to dudes who do the biathlon. I'm telling you, these guys cross country ski for like 50 miles, then they take off their skis, lay down, and stop breathing while they shoot the stuffing out of a target like a football field away. You try to cross country skiing for 50 miles and then just holding your breath for a minute. These guys are black angels. I'm telling you man, they get their powers from Lucifer. I'd rather have Dennis Rodman chasing me, trying to kill me any day of the week before I'd want to have a biathlon dude vigilante-ing me. It wouldn't matter how far I ran, biathlon dude would just calmly follow me on a pair of those skis with rollers on the bottom -- across several states if necessary -- and then shoot my eyes out from across the county.

Why didn't I go to biathlon school instead of law school?