Don't Mess with Pat Monahan

If you follow me on facebook, you already have a heads up on the tale that is about to unfold.  If you don’t follow me, why the hell not? Hit that “like” button, yo.  You would know that yesterday  I posted a comment on my writer page about the random dream I had the night before.  In that dream, my friends Angie, Melissa, and I were all out to eat at a fine restaurant before planning to go club-hopping (something we do never in real life because I live in the middle of nowhere).  We were all looking damn good.  I had on a little black dress and a stunning silk black and white striped scarf wrapped around my head like I was Jackie O.  The details are really irrelevant, but this is how well I am able to recall my dreams, and this is also why my husband is annoyed as shit every time I want to share them with him. 

"I'm so gangster. I'm so thug."  Really, Pat Monahan, really?
 

Okay, so let’s damn the details and get to the part worth sharing.  The band Train was also dining at this restaurant at a near-by table.  My two friends were stirred up by this celebrity sighting, and headed over to excitedly introduce themselves to the band.  I remained seated awaiting my Caesar Salad and glass of Merlot.  They were chatting with the band for a while and then the lead singer inquired about me.  Here’s exactly how I posted about this inquiry on my facebook page: “Then the lead singer (not even bothering to look up his name ... sorry Train fans) nodded over at me, and said, ‘What's the matter with her? Is she shy?’ My friends laughed at his silly question. Then I looked at him and spoke, ‘I'm not shy. Just not interested in meeting you,’ and quickly looked back away. I'm awesome even in my dreams.”

Yes, you can correctly conclude that I am not a Train fan.  Drops of Jupiter?  What the fuck are drops of Jupiter?  And why does he give a shout-out to deep fried chicken and soy lattes in that song?  I don’t want to meet Virginia, either.  Virginia doesn’t really sound all that interesting. Her hair is always a mess, she smokes a pack a day, and she wears high heels when she exercises.  That bitch is crazy, not fascinating.

Further, the singer claims he and Virginia just “like to sit at home and rip on the president.”  People! Stop ripping on the president, for Christ’s sake! If we don’t have respect for the office of president, how can we expect our children to respect their teachers, pastors, parents, coaches, and other mentors? (My apologies for the random soapbox.)

I admit I’m a music snob.  I don’t listen to a lot of “mainstream” artists.  My favorite artist is Aimee Mann, who was only mainstream decades ago as the former frontwoman of ‘Til Tuesday.  I appreciate lyrics, and that’s why I am not a fan of Train and didn’t make the effort to figure out the lead singer’s name.  I mean c’mon: “Hey soul sister – like a virgin, you’re Madonna – and I’m always gonna wanna blow your mind.”  Gonna? Wanna? Go to grammar school! Going to. Want to.

While I want to send Train to grammar school, I got my own ass schooled yesterday for hating on the band.  The following comment was left beneath my random dream posting: “His name is Pat Monahan and Train is awesome.” I suppose we will have to agree to disagree on this issue, but both confirm that music matters.

From this schooling, I learned two very valuable lessons:

1.       The lead singer of Train is Pat Monahan. Recognize.

2.       You can drop all the f-bombs you want on your blog, but don’t fuck with Train. 

Thanks for the knowledge! And to all of you Train fans and non-Train fans alike: Let’s keep music alive and support the band and choir programs in your local schools (both of which are so very sadly currently on the chopping block at my former district).  Dance to whatever music makes you happy and sing along loudly during every commute … especially if you hear Mister Mister on the radio (you’re welcome for that one final Train allusion)!