Music emergency

A couple of decades ago (unfortunately, that's not as much of an exaggeration as I'd like you to believe) I was getting dressed when I heard from the bathroom, "Help! Help!" Not exactly the kind of thing you want to hear an overnight guest yell from the shower. His tone didn't quite match his words in urgency, but I opened the door fast and barged in anyway, asking, "What's wrong?" "Will you change the station?! Now!" "Sure...but why?" The radio sitting on the closed toilet seat was blaring Tom Jones' "What's new, Pussycat?" He replied, "I can't stand this song. Please change it!" I had an equivalent experience this morning, but was I alone and had just squeezed shampoo into the palm of my hand when I heard a song that I now know is called "100 years" (normally I'd like that because of its association with Cien años de soledad/Hundred Years of Solitude, which I will always love, for the record, no matter how fashionable it is to trash or dismiss GGM). I had no choice but to suffer through it and continue with the shower routine, wondering whatever made Pandora.com think that I would want songs by the Dave Matthews Band in "My Stations" (and, yes, now I do know that it wasn't even the Dave Matthews Band). The song lasts forever...I guess I should just be glad that the annoying falsetto makes it almost impossible to discern the lyrics.

And, borrowing, the annoying catch phrase used by Sex and the City's protagonist, Carrie every time she narrates one of the columns she writes, "I couldn't help but wonder what song(s) would elicit from you, trapped in the shower, far from your towel, a plea for rescue from auditory assault?" Really. I want to know. Leave a comment. Porfa.