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Oh My God, I Like Joni Mitchell

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Driving home from work a couple of weeks ago, I was bouncing around through the cornucopia (sorry, I just felt like using that word - I know it's ridiculous) of station options that my satellite radio offers. I love my satellite radio. I mean I really really love it - given a "Sophie's Choice" of having to decide between Blackberry, iPhone or satellite radio (yes, I'm that pathetic that in my world this type of decision could be conceived to be a "Sophie's Choice"!), the satellite radio would stay. If you don't spend hours a day in a car in the hell that is commuting, then you probably won't understand the significance of satellite radio, but for anyone that does, owning a device is a must. So - I was running through the channels at a furious clip, as is my custom. I can decide within 5 seconds whether or not I like a song on the radio, and I can flip through 20 stations in steady rotation until I arrive at a good place. You don't want to ride in a car with me, it's extremely annoying.

But I digress. The point is that I was in the full rhythm of a complete station scan, when I found a song that I liked, it was "Free Man In Paris" by Joni Mitchell. I turned up the volume and started to sing. Loudly. Badly. ...I was a free man in Paris, I felt unfettered and alive... . I was happily singing along thinking about Joni and David Geffen (the song's inspiration), when I stopped cold. Wait a second, just hold on. Of all the choices offered to me out there, I chose a Joni Mitchell song. I really liked it. I KNEW THE WORDS TO THE CHORUS! I thought, oh my god, I...like...Joni...Mitchell. But this isn't the end of it, oh no, far from it my friends. As I thought some more about it, I remembered that within the same week I had also stopped to enjoy "Isn't It A Pity" by George Harrison and James Taylor's "I Feel Fine". I really liked both songs a lot. And then it hit me. Hard. I had to face the facts. As I approach 40 I am now officially a fan of "Mellow Gold", "Smooth 70's" or whatever you want to call it. Now to be honest there were always some hints that this was to be my future fate - I have always been a fan of both the Eagles and Cat Stevens. But, I thought I had it contained! I didn't realize that this was a progressive condition and that once infected, it will ultimately lead to a systemic breakdown in your musical universe. I'd heard stories about this, but they were mostly apocryphal and I thought they were urban legends intended to scare and instruct.

There is no escape for me (and probably not for you either) - eventually you will succumb to the dulcet sounds of these artists. I'm just scared about what's next - am I going to start liking cats and dreaming of a house in Laurel Canyon? Will I want to befriend Graham Nash? Perhaps if I cloister myself for 72 hours and listen to nothing but Fugazi bootlegs and the collected works of George Clinton I can sweat this thing out...