One thing about coming of age in the 60s is that it was all about music. Maybe it’s the way my brain is wired but I can remember almost anything musical. Consequently, my brain is chock full of songs from the 50s onward. In fact it is so full of songs that I have trouble fitting other stuff in.
And those songs don’t stay put. They tend to pop up at inopportune times. It’s like an iPod on automatic pilot. At times, when I’m doing something repetitive that doesn’t require a lot of mental involvement, my inner iPod thinks I need entertainment and switches on. Naturally, I have to hum or sing whatever song comes up, sometimes startling passersby.
To make matters worse, I seem to have no say in the programming. My inner iPod plays whatever it feels like, and sometimes it surprises me. It’s just as likely to be a popular song, a show tune, commercial jingle, or a hymn. I never know. After an indeterminate time, the roulette wheel spins again and it switches to another number.
In a way, having an inner iPod is a lot of company, but I’m probably strange enough to people as it is without the humming thing. I might as well just throw back by head and belt out a chorus or two. At least that would seem more intentional than befuddled. Maybe I’ll just make ear buds part of my permanent wardrobe.
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