Wars Not Make One Great

i'm currently at war with one of our dishwashers, though its more of a cold war, undeclared, and i'm pretty sure he is not aware we are engaging in battle whenever he puts on his ipod.

i do not possess an ipod, nor do i really want one. For the last year i've labored (a labor of love) at my job, we've depended on good old fashion cd's, and innumerable stereo's and cd players we've sent to an early grave through continuous use. And for the longest time we've managed to maintain a civil relationship; this new-fangled technology threatens our delicate balance of rotation. Once the cd is done, the next person puts on their music of choice. Everyone gets a turn. Though we may not all agree on said choice of music, the balance is there. This balance is sacred.

Until White-e puts on his ipod, and a two hour playlist of the finest hip-hop and R&B classics he can muster.

(i call him White-e due to his being white, yet blatantly co-opting black culture and speech mannerisms)

Don't get me wrong, i do not dislike hip-hop. i fear that my hip-hop tastes are somewhat behind the times, about ten years by my count. i recently asked White-e to burn me a copy of a Busta Rhymes album circa 1997, much to his surprise.

Its about the balance. Our sacred balance.

So lately i've been picking some of the albums that i like that i know he will probably despise. Maybe an album or two that i'm not even sure i like, just to watch him squirm, like said Busta Rhymes album, just because i'm sure its 'old school' to him.

So for our battle today i launched a massive salvo of the When-Bob-Dylan-Found-Religion album, thinking he'll surely hate that.

But no. He trumped me by immediately asking 'who dat is?' a sign that i piqued his interest.
Then he counter-struck with a fierce barrage of Nina Simone.

Foiled.

i need to gather some more ammo, though luckily we don't work together for a while.

...

i made the call to the parents tonight, something i don't do very often, or shall we say, often enough.

i once had a dream about this subject, in which while standing on a very strange porch, the Lady berated me saying, "You don't call your parents enough, you're a bad son."

i'll admit, i'm fairly lax about it.

Though tonight the call did not bode well.

It seems the c-word strikes again.

Though not as serious as her first bout, i just wish it would leave my mother alone. She's been through enough already. Seriously.

...

Which reminds me, i gots to quit smoking.