Sunday morning, March 25th. The forecast called for rain, but it turned out to be a beautiful and sunny day. Temperatures on marquee signs at different banks read somewhere between 75 and 80 degrees. Given the inaccuracies of bank temperatures, it was a good day nonetheless. At least a good day for the Shamrock Shuffle 8K race.
This year's Shuffle was a little bit more organized as far as human traffic goes. As a result of this advanced, brilliant organization, the lot of us got stuck quite far back in the crowd amongst the open division. We were staged in the area with the 12 minute mile pacers! Ugh.
As a result, it took about 12 minutes for us to cross the starting line. GPS unit ready on my wrist, we started running. My bad. We started jogging slower than we can walk. But it was fun nonetheless. The company of friends, and the energy of the crowd. It all made for a pleasant run. Running a slower pace was a combination of my recent weight gain, the lack of sleep the night prior, and the result of a friend's evil plan to get me drunk late into the night at some restaurant that just so happened to be reviewed on the show
Check Please! that very evening!
I can't really hold her at fault entirely, because what's that saying? That's right, I remember now. You can't rape the willing. But that's beside the point.
After about half of mile into running the Shuffle, our little group broke up into two. A slow group, and an even slower one. I fell into the former. And for the first time ever, I ran a steady pace without any effort, and I chatted almost the entire four plus miles! What a great way to catch up with a friend on each others' otherwise uninteresting lives. And best of all, my sides didn't hurt, as they usually do when I talk and run at the same time, a result of unsynchronized breathing methodology.
After the brisk five mile run, I was not the least bit tired, and was ready to run another lap around the exact same course. But of course hunger would take precedence. Instead of waiting in long lines lasting almost an hour to get our petty free beer, a few of us opted to go to Duffy's on Diversey for an all-you-can-eat brunch, with unlimited mimosas inclusive. All for just $15.95. What's not to love, besides the half hour we had to wait, which wasn't so bad as we were not unaccompanied with our favorite breakfast alcoholic drink. Mine was a Bloody Mary.
Two additional servings past the point when I said I was full, a song broke out in this rather loud bar that caters to pathetic fraternity boys and sorority girls. Undoubtedly it was one of my favorite songs, if not the best: O.A.R.'s
Crazy Game of Poker. By this point in time, I may have had four or eight mimosas, but hey! Who's counting anyway? So I sang along at the top of my lungs in an attempt to drown out the song blasting over the speakers, but I must also add that I failed miserably.
My companion had never heard of this song, to which I reacted in shock.
How can she not know the greatest song ever?!? A quick glance around the bar told her what she needed to know. All these pretty frat boys and ridiculously annoying sorority girls know the song, as they too were singing along to it. A smile came upon a face before looking at me with all seriousness: "Are you white?"
Fast forward to tonight. Time had passed, and I had a few moments to think about this. Briefly, of course, as I interrupted myself with a undeserved giant chocolate shake from Häagen-Dazs. Incidentally, the shake itself, as mightily tasty as it was, was definitely unworthy of the six dollars they commanded. Unless they believed wholeheartedly that they should find it ethical to charge a dollar for each hundred calories they produced.
Anyway, so I thought about the question that was imposed upon me. I don't listen to gangster rap. I may not listen to most of the top 40 pop music that are constantly shoved down our ear canals, but I surely do enjoy the popular alternative rock music. It may be considered well known and internationally recognized if you judge music by its quick recognition throughout the world. Tool? Yes. Nine Inch Nails? Yes. The Killers? Yes. Muse? Yes.
But there was a point in time when the world didn't know who the Dave Matthews Band was. Yes, I love them for a long time, since before they made it big on the world scene of music before
Everyday. Statistically speaking, the majority of DMB fans are mostly white kids who mostly happen to enjoy some doobie doby doo on the side. You might refer to it as Mary Jane. But so what? Phish? Yes.
But what about Guster? Or O.A.R.? Damn! She totally got me! I realized that such music typically catered to fans that are statistically not me. Or the black guy next door. Or my Hispanic buddies. Or my French, or German, or Italian, or Japanese, or Filipino friends. Damn! O.A.R.? Totally white hippie crowd's kind of music, despite the fact that one of the O.A.R. band members is Asian.
Now I'm left with bewilderment as to how I have become this person that I am today. Of all the worldly influences while growing up, I now claim most music best enjoyed with alcohol, happy-go-lucky girls, and Mary Jane as my kind of music! Sigh... I can only imagine the disappointment in my parents' eyes. But you know what? I may not be a whitey, but I sure as hell love O.A.R.!
From this day forth, let it be known that I am in love with strange tunes that are typically loved by the hippie college frat boys and sorority girls! Ain't no shame in that! =)
Labels: culture, life, music, sports, weather
