Her Name Was Janita

She sings songs. Jazzy songs. Jazzy love songs. Jazzy love songs that sound a lot like each other. Jazzy love songs that sound a lot like each other, differentiated only by the number of times Love, Waiting for Love and Love Me are mentioned.

The man on his knees was making a “low-budget music video that would be up on YouTube in a few hours.” Her words, not mine.

Her fans in the crowd cheered mightily. Don’t ask me why I was there.

As many of you know, my “musical” tastes run the, ahem, very varied gamut of Sting to stand-up comedy (is that even considered music) to news radio (there are musical intermissions?). At least that’s all I have on my iShuffle.

I know it’s sad.

A friend said recently, “Who doesn’t like music?”

Really, I’m the only one?

I get a mite jealous when I hear of people excitedly exchanging iPod playlists. I don’t think anyone wants to iPod me.

Someone? Anyone?

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