Thursday

It’s been a rough morning. Poopy, really. No matter what I’ve tried so far, I’m undistractible. I’ve read from “A Thousand Splendid Suns.” But it’s definitely not the book to read to raise one’s spirits. Before showering I put on my “kick butt” playlist of exercise tunes. No help.

So I pulled out the big guns – music from the 1940s. I listened to it yesterday too with the same result – a lift in mood. I guess listening to songs with lyrics like, “Down went the gunner. . .” followed by, “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,” puts my troubles in perspective. To the listeners of the ‘40s facing war, food rationing and no nylons, music was written to lift. Apparently it still works. Perhaps it’s because it’s big band, and I can almost picture myself twirling across the floor as the singer croons away on stage. (“Boogie-woogie Bugle Boy” is playing now, and I can’t help but snap my fingers and tap my toes.)

And here I thought that country music was the music to listen to when you’re feeling low. After all, whose problems could be worse than those in the country ballads? They’re “goin’ through the big D and I don’t mean Dallas,” wondering “whose bed have [his] boots been under.” You know the country-western drill. In fact, do you know what you get when you play country-western music backwards? You get your wife back, your truck back, your dog back . . .

On a side note, do you know what you get when you play the Mormon Tabernacle Choir backwards? Jell-O recipes.