SelfAbsorbed.ME : ‘It’s Your Life, We Just Write it Funnier’

I never had any real tendencies towards rebellion. The closest I’ve ever come to feeling like a bad-ass: secretly listening to explicit music in horribly inappropriate settings. For example, this week, my private thrill was listening to “My Dick” by Mickey Avalon on my iPod while in the waiting room at the optometrist’s office. (I really need a stronger prescription for my glasses.) Imagine the way people would look at me if they knew I was merrily tapping my foot to, “My dick: bigger than a bridge/Your dick looks like a little kid’s.” My soundtrack is my rebellion. It sets me free.

My fantasy job: I want to be a personal soundtracker. People would call me up to say things like, “I need you to come do my music for the next ten hours.” I would accompany my employer, iPod in hand, and decide the most appropriate music to play at any given moment. I believe that for every moment, there exists a perfect corresponding song–its soulmate. (I’m much more of a sap when discussing music than I am when speaking of relationships.) Sometimes opposites attract. A song that one might expect to be completely wrong, like “My Dick,” is just so wrong that it feels right–and hilarious.

I play the unexpected soundtrack game with just about everyone. I’d like to believe that the middle-aged woman working out next to me is listening to “99 Problems” by the Jay-Z and that the punk kid skateboarding down 2nd Ave. is coasting to the sweet melody of “Take my Breath Away” by Berlin. My uncle may claim to be a die-hard Sinatra fan, but I’d rather think of him getting pumped up for a business meeting while listening to “I’m So Excited” by the Pointer Sisters.

Public figures are not exempt from my fantasies. Yesterday, I pictured Joe Biden getting revved up for the debate as he listened to “Pimpin’ All Over the World” by Ludacris. That’s right, Joe. You strut your international policy experience. Meanwhile, Palin rocked out to good ol’ Britney’s “Piece of Me.” I can just see her belting along to, “I don’t see the harm in workin and bein a mama” while she straightens her bangs in front of the mirror. Suddenly the two women seem to have quite a bit in common–close relatives becoming teen mothers, people calling them crazy, and a constant barrage of media.

Isn’t it wonderful to see music bring people together–even if it is just in our minds?

On the one hand, playing this game reminds me to expect the unexpected in people. First impressions aren’t enough. And I can’t possibly claim to know someone until I’ve taken a peek at their iTunes library. But more than anything else, the unexpected soundtrack creates endless amusement:

And walking through the New York Public Library with Avalon’s “Waiting to Die” pulsing though my earbuds never felt so bad.