Play that funky music, white girl

Recently, through a kind gesture from the higher-ups at my place of business, I now have speakers for my work computer. Little did they know, they just put a whole lot of pressure on me to be cool, or, at the very least, professional.

Back when I was listening to music through my headphones, I would play whatever my heart desired. Show tunes! Britney Spears! REO Speedwagon! Racy podcasts that say “fuck” a lot! But I can’t play that stuff now. I’m already the weirdo in the corner that gives people the wink and the gun and laughs awkward laugh-barks when someone tries to make a joke. I see these speakers as a chance for redemption.

But redemption, be it musical or otherwise, does not come easily, folks. Now I have to choose my Pandora stations with a discriminating ear, as everything will be heard by my nearby coworkers and any passerby. So right now, I’ve been sticking with “safe” Pandora stations—The Beatles, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and The Eagles. Can’t judge someone for liking The Beatles, can you? No, you sure can’t. But these play lists are getting boring pretty quickly–yes, even my beloved Beatles.

I was so desperate today for a change that I plugged in “Johannes Brahms” into Pandora. Am I this person now? The person who listens to classical music for appearances? No one likes that person, Lisa.

I am now reminiscent for the days when my former coworker blasted Blink 182 and Eminem. I can do better than THAT. Some days.

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