Radio Ga Ga

I’ll admit it – I’m a snoozer.
I’ve never been much of a morning person. Before I can actually get out of bed, it usually takes me about 30 minutes of lying under the covers, slamming the snooze button every 7 minutes, and calculating the latest possible time I can get up and still catch my train. (Okay – if I don’t wash my hair today, and I eat my toast in the car, that gives me at least another 15 minutes of sleep. If I don’t iron my pants, that will save me another 5 minutes…)
Since it’s part of my morning ritual, the radio station I listen to each morning plays a critical role in setting the tone of that day. Normally, I tune the clock radio to Greatest Hits of the 80’s and 90’s, which allows me to wake up to the sweet voices of the Eurythmics or Blondie. Some snappy little tune that will make me want to face the day. You know, something like, “Walking on Sunshine.”
But a couple weeks ago, something dreadful happened. My alarm clock went off, and all I heard was some annoying gravely voice talking, which led into some horrific 1950’s song. Don’t get me wrong – I love the 50’s as much as any thirty-something gal, but if I wanted to go to the sock hop, I would have asked Archie to the Sadie Hawkins Day Dance.
The first day this happened, it didn’t fully register with me. I just thought maybe my station was having an off day, or maybe I accidentally bumped the dial. I tuned the radio back to the right station, and didn’t give it another thought. But then the next day, it happened again. Then it hit me:
Oh god. My morning radio station changed formats.
With no advanced warning, they flipped from upbeat tunes by Wham! and Madonna to schmaltzy 1950’s and 60’s songs. Yesterday’s highlight? If I Had a Hammer. No offense to Mary, Peter, or Paul, but if I had a hammer that morning, there would’ve been nothing left of my radio except a smoking pile of wires and plastic.
So you’re thinking, “Big deal! Who cares what music you wake up to, as long as you wake up, right?” If only it were that simple.
See, part of the problem is that my brain is highly prone to suggestion. This is why I will never allow anyone to hypnotize me. I’ve always heard that a hypnotist can’t make you do anything under hypnosis that you wouldn’t normally do. That’s exactly what scares me – I need the pressures of society to keep me in line. My naturally repressed nature is the only thing holding back the snapping and drooling beast deep inside me.
But we should save that discussion for another day.
The point I’m trying to make is that my brain, prior to 10:00am, is somewhat like silly putty – slap it down on the comics pages, and you’ll end up with a somewhat distorted image of Family Circle. The five or so songs that I listen to each morning are permanently etched into my brain, at least until the next morning’s set list. And these songs will bounce around in my head. All. Day. Long.
To illustrate, there’s one particular scene in the movie Rain Man where Dustin Hoffman is in the car with Tom Cruise and they’re listening to the radio. Dustin Hoffman hears the radio tag line – something like “BAM! 102.9 Classic Rock!” and just keeps repeating it over and over again until Tom Cruise tells him that K-Mart sucks.
BAM! 102.9 Classic Rock!
BAM! 102.9 Classic Rock!
BAM! 102.9 Classic Rock!

This is exactly what my life is like.
Except now it’s:
If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning.
If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning.
If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning.

The day before that, I found my thrill. Wanna know where? Yeah, it was on Blueberry Hill. I found it over, and over, and over again. And let me tell you – wasn’t all that thrilling.
So why don’t I just change the station and stop my daily torment? Because, in addition to being highly susceptible to suggestion, I also suffer from short-term memory loss. I think it was caused either by all my years in the model airplane club, or from the medical marijuana that I smoke to combat the painful effects of my severe myopia and slight astigmatism.
Either way, by the time I finish writing this entry, I will have completely forgotten about the radio station dilemma, and will have to suffer through yet another day of sappy oldies but goodies. I guess if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!
Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near, la la la, la la la la, close to you…

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