Quite often I wake up and fall asleep to the muffled sounds of Daft Punk seeping through my wall from the next room like a black cloud of “you better not be sleeping”. This is annoying. Everywhere we go, we hear other people’s music. In my ceramics class, a peculiar young man elected himself as class DJ. He gets to class early and plugs his iPod into some speakers and subjects us all to 3 hours of his shuffle. Occasionally there is a song that I don’t hate, but usually I am compelled to negative thoughts. Every time a new song comes on, there will be a moan from half the class that is barely audible over the squeals of delight from the other half. “O.M.G. I LOVE this song!!!” Do you? Is that why you’re singing along as loud as you can?
Yesterday was no exception. After hearing half the class sing along to Colbie Caillat’s greatest hits, I began to silently pray for something exciting; something to break the monotony. As I carefully engulfed my hands in smooth wet clay, a familiar sound reached my ears. I quickly processed the beginning of Kanye West’s “Golddigger.” Just after I realized what had popped up on Señor Annoying’s iPod, I stopped ceramic-ing and began to observe the class. It soon became apparent that this was, in fact, the unedited version. With each use of the “N” word, I watched more and more people stop working with disgusted looks on their faces. This is exactly what I had hoped for. A mutiny! A reason for us all to shun the awkward guy that plays the music. With the first “F” word, people got angry and I got excited.
This is it, I thought. In a few moments we will be back to the silence I have dreamed of, broken only by my Tongan classmate’s off color comments immediately preceding my laughter. The closet wangster dove for his iPod, red with embarrassment. In one experienced swipe of his finger, Kanye was brutally replaced by Jason Mraz and his overplayed musings. I’m yours. I’m yours. With those 2 words, all the girls (except for my Tongan friend) quickly abandoned the idea that we would all go to Hell for listening to … rap, and were once again wrapped around DJ schmoozer’s skinny little fingers. I like music. I like lots of music. I don’t have to like yours.