So, I have a couple of coworkers that I hang out with that happen to be a couple. Now, the feminine aspect of the couple is attractive enough to have been a desired object of affection by others; others who found nothing but an unrequited feeling of complete pain from being completely rebuffed.
However, one of those gents made her a mix of “baby-making music.” Now, to give you an idea of what type of music could be found on this disc let me describe this chap; he’s the type of white guy who loves urban radio and is prone to exclaiming “white people” in exasperation and in earnest.
Needless to say that his mix had all of the subtlety and nuance of a video on BET. I heard it in a “listen for 10 seconds, skip to the next track” fashion and it was stomach-churning. This mix has become a point of ridicule between she and I.
However she and her beau have been pestering me to come up with a rebuttal. They know I have taste in music, though they don’t respect my taste.
And at this point I’m going to hit “pause” and go off on a tangent. I mean it’ll all make sense, when it’s over, I just can’t really think of a good segue right now.
Also at work there’s a young woman who’s caught my eye. Actually, that’s not quite right. To say that she meets the bare minimum of the requirements necessary to capture my attention would be to accurately describe the situation. I won’t go into detail, but anyone who’s familiar with my writing can probably figure out where her pros and cons lie. However, that seed is there.
At this point it’s vital that I explain to you how I make a mix. I view making a mix as an art. It’s not just a collection of songs. It’s a reflection of me; not just my collection or the songs at my disposal.
I put time into it. I scour the songs that I’ve amassed and come up with list of candidates. Some are stronger than others. Some songs truly capture my state at that moment and need to be on that mix. Others might have sentimental value, but not make the final cut. It’s a process that takes a while, but the end result wouldn’t be worth listening to if it didn’t.
I guess you could say that I’m way method when it comes to making a mixtape; I need a muse. Usually that muse is who I’m making it for. But not this time.
I’m really not remotely attracted to female part of the couple. She’s cool beans, but she doesn’t nothing for me sexually (though I will admit that she’s been known to have an occasional flare up of booty from time to time).
But without a muse the desired mix would fall pretty flat. Now ordinarily my romantic muse of choice is an ex that I’ve dubbed “the love of my life” who is gloriously out of reach. Using her as my muse would have made the mix a rather melancholy affair, so I opted out of using her.
And thus I came to notion that set me down the course which lead me to the point I’m at today.
Controlled burns are essential to forest growth. It’s a forest fire, but with a purpose and not really dangerous. I thought that perhaps I could use the one who caught my eye to create a controlled muse so that my mix could achieve greatness. It sounds like a solid plan, right? Use that spark that already existed, and create a controlled burn and extinguish when I’m done. Simple, right?
Well the mix(es) are great, but the controlled burn has spiraled into full fledged crush.
It’s so frustrating, because I’m a guy who prides himself on keeping his emotions in check. I rarely lose my temper and I maintain a rather even keel through my day. But this task I took on has amplified whatever I felt initially, to levels that are beyond my control.
I invested that spark into 30 songs. And as a result I’m left with two discs that I don’t even want to hand over to those who request them, because they contain the essence of my current emotional state.
Furthermore, I’ll probably never get beyond flirting with the spark because at this point she’s been built up in my head to a level where I’ve accepted that things would be doomed to fail.
So at the end of the day I’ve got songs I won’t share and I’ve got a piece of homework that I probably won’t finish.
Man, the things I do for friends.
