WEEI Ruined My Life

Hello old friend, it’s been a while. It’s not that I don’t like talking to you; it’s just that I’ve been so uninspired. While some people can dump their thoughts into blogs as easy as downloading the latest YouTube candy, mine have to be coaxed, forced, finger down the throat until they spew forth like pea soup from Linda Blair. Usually this painful purging yields nothing worth sharing. For this I blame WEEI. WEEI has ruined my life.

As children we are warned about the dangers of sports radio. And while we may make pledges, promises, and sign contracts, we never imagine we could be sucked in and under its control. We even doubt its danger. With the highest ratings in all of Boston radio it seems like everyone is doing it, and everyone can’t be wrong.

This morning’s drive to work was the first time I said it out loud, my confession, “I have a problem”. It was during a commercial break between the flash and opening rant of D&C. I turned on WFNX and heard music. There was a Split Enz tune and something by Beck. Nothing I’d put on a desert island CD but just enough to expose the holes. It seems my passion for the Red Sox was the only thing holding together this barely functional soul. I am one sub 500 season away from removing its dusty husk and leaving it by the curb on Tuesday morning.

There was a time when music and the culture of art that surrounds it helped define me. Not to paint myself as some sort of former beret wearing bohemian discussing existentialism while stroking my goatee in a coffee shop. But there was a time when I swam in the empathy for those facets of life that Johnny lunch pale buzzes by in his 4x4. Now I know what the mighty K meant when he sang, “I miss the comfort of being sad”.

Funny though, even after my acceptance of my problem I was still tuning in to 850 A.M.. Like an alcoholic who knows he must stop drinking I kid myself and believe that just once more won’t make a difference. Again they take a topic of infinitesimal insignificance and beat it into the ground. What can they possibly say about the Patriots on Tuesday that they didn’t cover on “Patriots Monday”. What can they say about the Red Sox when no real news has come from the team in weeks. And does anybody really care if the Celtics or Bruins ever play another game.

The worst side affect of this disease is that music has become such a stranger. I listen to the same CD’s I did ten years ago. I know there is plenty of new music and a world of undiscovered old music. But I’ve become one of those guys I’d make fun of fifteen years ago, those whose idea of “new” music was the new Clapton box set or the latest Skynard tribute album. From cutting edge to trimming the hedges, I compile the same old songs on new mix cd’s.

I’ve never been through a twelve step program but I know that the first step is admitting you have a problem. I’ve done that and I’m stuck on the first rung. As of yet there are no support groups for this addiction. So I guess I’ll have to make it up as I go along. Cold turkey? That’s easy to say now, but what if they trade Manny? What happens when pitchers and catchers report to Fort Myers and forget about opening day.

And music, maybe mining the emotions presented by great art will disrupt my cocoon of fat, dumb, and happy. Maybe ignorance is bliss.

I see that this is going to take a commitment. I must listen to music on the radio at least one hour every day. I must read a book that doesn’t have the words “for Dummies” in it’s title, and I must watch a movie that was once at the Sundance festival. Oh god, I hope this isn’t like my exercise bike promise.

My presence on these pages, or lack thereof, will indicate my progress. Wish me luck.