Trapped!

I went with Patti to the doctor. We arrived in plenty of time, but as often is the case, Doc was running behind schedule.

The reading selection was limited to a National Geographic from 2004 and health pamphlets. There were too many people sitting nearby to talk about anything of substance with Patti. Since they weren't talking - I wasn't going to talk. The art on the wall was the typical waiting room art. They were prints / paintings that attempted to indicate that an artist was actually involved in their creation and that Doc had an art dealer procure them. The situation was somewhere between driving across Ohio and sitting in church on the misery index, but tolerable.

The misery meter went into the red when the series of commercials playing on the tinny sound system ended and Sail On by the Commodores, No Body Does It Better - Carly Simon and How Can You Mend a Broken Heart - Bee Gees were played. It was B105.7 , "Indy's Only (Thank God!) Soft Rock Station." I was powerless. No buttons were available to change the station or even turn it off. I was saved by another string of commercials and Barbie and Ken doing the weather report.

I can't grasp the concept of soft rock. Some purists limit rock to Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis and the like. Even the loosest definition of rock includes no more than the Beatles. Rock is supposed to make you want to fight and fornicate. Soft rock is an oxymoron. It makes as much sense as a flacid dildo. But even as non-offensive, formula pop goes, the stuff I had to hear was the worst of the worst. It bit ass 30 years ago and chomps deeper with each playing.

The ride home with the sun roof open and XM Radio set to 101- "The Joint" was a far better way to spend a hot sunny afternoon. It almost cleared my brain. A Carly Simon song has a half-life of about 36 hours.