Yes, I like Nickelback. Is that a problem?

I love crappy music, and I would shout that from the rooftops if I wasn’t terrified of heights. I have several ‘musician’ friends that feel like they can define me as a person based on my CD library, which they seem to be rather un-impressed with. If you want to waste your time attempting to create a psychological profile based on the fact that I like Hall and Oates and Foreigner, knock yourself out. I’ve never seen Anderson Cooper interview a juror after a high-profile murder case and ask, “Did your decision to convict have anything to do with the defendant owning all six volumes of ‘Yo MTV Raps’ on CD?”

The term ‘musician’ is tossed around far too casually in my opinion. Just because you own a guitar or do a killer version of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on Guitar Hero doesn’t mean you qualify. It just seems to me that learning to play a song written by someone else should be considered a good imitation at best, but what do I know? I am after all, a musical idiot. You don’t see me logging onto another writer’s blog, then cutting and pasting it to mine using a slightly different font. No, sir! I write my own material. I dated a ‘musician’ recently that definitely considered himself above me because of his abundance of talent. The day I told him that I was a big Rick Springfield fan; he looked at me as if I slaughtered a family of five and posted the pictures on my Facebook profile. I’ll readily admit that I enjoyed hearing him play in my living room, but remember… I love crappy music. You do the math. As far as I know, his cat was the only other audience he had. Don’t even get me started on the whole male cat owner phenomenon. It’s not acceptable EVER. If you’re a single broad and you should encounter a cat owning guy, rest assured something isn’t right with this man. I don’t know all the statistics, but I’m fairly sure your chances of becoming a homicide victim double if you date a single dude with a feline.

A few years back, my car was broken into in downtown Cleveland. There wasn’t anything worth stealing, and yet two homeless guys broke out the window with a brick and took all of my spare change and most of my CDs. At first, I was pissed because of the damage to my vehicle; then I realized that those assholes actually left two CDs behind. My musical taste was so shitty that hobos found these two discs undesirable. They were reviled by 38 Special and Eddie Money, evidently. I went on an absolute tirade while filling out the police report. I know there’s no way at this point to collect any damages for my broken windshield and my change has likely been converted to booze already. I still wanted Po-Po to go locate these two indigents, so that I could play the Eddie Money CD for them. Come on… “Take Me Home Tonight” could likely become a new homeless anthem of sorts. Where the hell did they get a CD player, anyways? Or the electricity to operate it? Then it dawned on me, my CDs weren’t even good enough to be utilized as bum coasters! I’ve since become more confident and proud of my horrible collection of CDs. If I want to like Nickelback… I’m going to like Nickelback. I’m sure all of you, including the cat musician have sung along to a few bars of ‘How You Remind Me’, so get off my back. I-Tunes, here I come!


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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

November 2010
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