ba-duh, ba ba da duh
Once a week I work out of the downtown office for my Union closer to home (I can walk there instead of the hour long train ride) and for that day I am forced to listen to a co-worker's favorite radio station.
Soul and soul light, with the occasional old school funk.
Well, every day that I am there, the ladies at the office feel obliged to remind me of "Mo's song" when it inevitably comes on (it's played once or twice a day, it seems), and I get the chills.
I related the story of "my song" to them the first day I worked, and it never ceases to amuse all when repeated.
So:
Back in the first year of my (now defunct) marriage, the wife and I had an apartment on a tiny street across from a whole family of Mexican gang members. Three generations worth.
They were nice to us (even helped various neighbors and us after the big earthquake in '94) and generally kept to themselves with just one odd exception.
Seems that "Junior" had been released from prison after a short stint, and on the day of his homecoming, some rival members decided to pay him a "drive-by" and pepper the house across the street, as well as "Junior" with some noisy and small metal high velocity gifts.
"Junior" survived, but with massively diminished mental capacities, and his "homies" decided he should get a brand new car with a top of the line stereo for his troubles. "Junior" could not drive, so spending the day washing his "trock-a" and playing his tunes was about all he could do.
Therein lay the problem. He only seemed to have or like one song on one CD. And he wouldn't play the one song over and over again. Oh, no. He would play the opening (by hitting repeat) of one special song.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
The first bit of "Genius of Love" by the Tom Tom Club.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
20 or 50 times in a row. Just. That. Bit.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
For an hour or so, "Junior" would just sit there in his shiny truck hitting repeat. Hitting repeat.
And should we happen to be home, we got to listen to.
We moved six months later, but for the 2 of us, that song is forever tainted, and we go out of our way to avoid it.
Except now. Thanks to some faceless, mindless unimaginative corporate "soul light" radio programmer.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
My song.
Soul and soul light, with the occasional old school funk.
Well, every day that I am there, the ladies at the office feel obliged to remind me of "Mo's song" when it inevitably comes on (it's played once or twice a day, it seems), and I get the chills.
I related the story of "my song" to them the first day I worked, and it never ceases to amuse all when repeated.
So:
Back in the first year of my (now defunct) marriage, the wife and I had an apartment on a tiny street across from a whole family of Mexican gang members. Three generations worth.
They were nice to us (even helped various neighbors and us after the big earthquake in '94) and generally kept to themselves with just one odd exception.
Seems that "Junior" had been released from prison after a short stint, and on the day of his homecoming, some rival members decided to pay him a "drive-by" and pepper the house across the street, as well as "Junior" with some noisy and small metal high velocity gifts.
"Junior" survived, but with massively diminished mental capacities, and his "homies" decided he should get a brand new car with a top of the line stereo for his troubles. "Junior" could not drive, so spending the day washing his "trock-a" and playing his tunes was about all he could do.
Therein lay the problem. He only seemed to have or like one song on one CD. And he wouldn't play the one song over and over again. Oh, no. He would play the opening (by hitting repeat) of one special song.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
The first bit of "Genius of Love" by the Tom Tom Club.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
20 or 50 times in a row. Just. That. Bit.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
For an hour or so, "Junior" would just sit there in his shiny truck hitting repeat. Hitting repeat.
And should we happen to be home, we got to listen to.
We moved six months later, but for the 2 of us, that song is forever tainted, and we go out of our way to avoid it.
Except now. Thanks to some faceless, mindless unimaginative corporate "soul light" radio programmer.
"Ba-duh, ba ba da duh!"
My song.
posted by mo figuls at 3:04 PM
1 Comments:
i would have moved, too.
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