I am sitting in Boston's Logan Airport awaiting a flight to Chicago. The doyens of the airport have decreed that some kind of bleached jazz must be played over the sound system. A lot of guitar notes without evident soulfulness pour out around the travelers who are eating Dunkin Donuts at Gate 20. There is a faint hum of air conditioning. In my view, when considering the hierarchy of air terminal noise pollution via Muzak Logan ranks around a 3, with 10 being the worst. Perhaps the worst airport I know of is Atlanta, where they play CNN constantly and at very high volume. By turns, the music of euthanasia doesn't sound so bad. Yes, yes, it could be much worse. Let me assert that I'm no Polyanna. I hate the sterilized, decorticating ersatz jazz as much as I disdain television talk shows and vending machine food. I have forgotten my noise reduction headphones. I'm listening to the tuneless bleating of the lost while all around me men eat donuts.
A man across the way is staring at me because he thinks I don't know. He is as bad as the soundtrack. Have I just arrived at the age when one naturally prefers to stay home? The idea is of doubtful provenance. What I like is a good multi-cultural mix of languages being spoken, no Muzak, no donuts. Sure. I'm an aesthete. I like human conversation.
Meanwhile today is the launch date of my new book: Do Not Interrupt: A Playful Take on the Art of Conversation.
Here is what the folks at The Cape Cod Times had to say http://www.capecodonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100530/LIFE/5300302/
May you be free from infusions of false jazz my friends.