BY ANDREW KALLOCH
Pandora, the online radio, is a fantastic invention. It allows us to set our preferences, while simultaneously exposing us to songs and artists that we otherwise may have breezed by on the virtual walls of iTunes. There’s only one problem with it for me: It makes me feel like a girl. And for an all-American man like myself, that just doesn’t sit well.
I mean, sure, when I take the BoltBus to visit my better half in New York, my radio dial starts with David Allen Boucher and bedtime magic and turns straight to Delilah when I pass through Hartford. But so what! I mean, for one, Mr. Boucher has been described by the definitive source on radio broadcasting-Wikipedia-as a “very popular and well-known nighttime host.”
Moreover, David Allen-that’s what I call him when I am drifting off to bed with my stuffed animal in tow-has been nominated once again as “Adult Contemporary Radio Personality of the Year” by his peers. And so what if Delilah provides relationship advice between songs and describes herself as “the queen of sappy love songs.” Yeah, take that, Pandora. I’m not alone in listening either. I mean, Delilah is especially popular among women between the ages of 25 and 54. As she said, her audience is “her audience is “just like me and the two women working on the show.” Wait, no. Argh! Delilah, you always do this to me. I’m so flustered. Maybe David Allen will know what to do. Oh, if only Michael McDonald’s stirring rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” would come on right now. That song cracks me up.
So really, when push comes to shove, real men listen to David Allen and Delilah. You know, men who eat slabs of meat and understand that what you really need to win in this league is a shutdown cornerback and a quarterback who can manage the game. See, I always thought I was that kinda guy. You know the one-like those old men, large prostates and all, white-water rafting and fishing in those FloMax ads? God, those guys are great. Or that guy in the Just For Men commercial who really gets into the game by masking his real age and attempting to coerce a women half his age through the miracle of modern hair-coloring technology? That guy-a true American.
Seriously though, Pandora is really cramping my style. I mean, sure, I stayed in last night because I was feeling a little low after last night’s absurd decision in Next Top Model, but really, Pandora, what is all this talk about “interweaving vocal harmony, danceable grooves, and extensive vamping?” That is so not me. I like rock and rolls-oh that reminds me, my Betty Crocker cupcakes are in the oven-we’re having a baby shower at my place tonight for a friend. I mean, what if the kid is a boy? You wouldn’t want him to start out by sitting in a womb while a bunch of women moan about their problems and talk about…well, whatever they talk about, am I right? That kid needs some male influence-you know, a little moaning about entirely reasonable expectations of commitment by women.
And puh-lease Pandora, “a dynamic male vocalist, intricate melodic phrasing, and acoustic sonority?” I mean what does sonority mean anyway? Something to do with whales or something-I seem to remember hearing that word in Free Willy 3, although I may have missed it because man is that ending emotional. Tears of joy, though, trust me-I won’t ruin the ending for you.
In any case, the only “sonor” I am gonna be using tonight is “sonor” to look for some hot babes! That’s right-you know what I’m talkin’ about-you see that game last night? Yeah, I heard it was great! Nah, I couldn’t watch it-yeah, my stupid girlfriend wanted to watch something called America’s Next Model or somethin’ like that. I was like, “honey, what about the big game.” And she was like, “what game?” Yeah, I know: girls.
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