Music: The first and last thing I’ll ever carry to my grave unless my wife wants to share. Thinking economical since 2010


By: Cody DiCavalcante

Music, it makes us move. It makes us believe in things. It even made me consider a mild operation where I remove the nose hairs from my nostrils permanently but that is neither here nor there. I’ve seen people so entranced by the sounds and vocals of a song that they actually have quit working and married their stereos. It’s a valuable thing, music. I don’t remember the first time I ever listened to music but I have always felt the same way about it, completely and utterly stoked to the point of wanting to leave an important meeting with Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez just so I could dance naked in my living room while listening to Pink Floyd—maybe even do skeleton plots of tree ring samples in Joshua Tree Park. I’ve never really been out of the music loop. I’m not saying that music is my main reason for living but is just a tiny reason I thought about going into ghost hunting as a profession.

My dad was a lover of smooth jazz, my mother a lover of 60’s and 70’s music. They both had their genres and ways of dislocating from what this world considers normal but we consider the lesser important things in life or if we are going to get really specific, the bullshit. I myself have rocked out to all types of genres including: smooth jazz, disco, progressive, alternative, rock, hard rock, pop, country, rap, indie, afro-powered, sugar-produced, bambino, samba thesis, zoolander, the Quran. It is always a good idea to increase your realm of music because you never know what’s going to catch your ear in just the right way. It could be something that is totally benign like the fatty cysts that are on my back or it could be increasing in joyful altitude like the spontaneous fruit trees in Yemen. I’ve always considered myself a lover of many things. I’ve always eaten pasta, carried a wallet, kicked my legs at things that piss me off, given idiot answers to people that I find smarter than I am just to make them not give me their smart answers anymore but let’s face it we all are in love and if we are going to carry on the tradition to our kids, we might as well turn up the volume on our joystick and cycle through as many tracks on Young Jeezy’s newest album as humanly possible or in a cyborg’s case as fast as computer-ly possible. I’ve been living in this world for longer than I can remember. I feel kind of like Rama sometimes but that just is my super-human ability to eat pencils kicking in. I’ve never understood how music made it into history, maybe because I’ve never looked but that’s not the focus of today’s lesson. You and I both know that if we are going to dance and free ourselves from oppression, we have to keep the music alive and that my friends you can count on from me. I’ve never understood people like Hitler who like genocide rather than going to clubs and popping bottles of champagne. I mean, he could’ve been so much different if he listened to the Beatles and other popular bands after his time. He didn’t have to write Mein Kamph, if only the prison guards allowed him two hours a week to dance with a girl of his choice to something such as Waltz #2 by Elliott Smith or Forever by Chris Brown, he would have thrown that book at Karl Marx who would have then dropped his stupid book which fell on Stalin’s communistic boot and then they could have been a trio of musical go-getters letting loose and getting all the ladies out on the dance floor. It has that impact and I know it does!

Whenever I hear a good song, I feel like smiling and putting on some sweatshirts for better aerodynamics. I mean, if hoarders for example, would just turn on the soundtrack of Dirty Dancing they could get all that bullshit out of their house and garage. It moves people to do super things and even more uplifts someone’s mood.  I wish I could walk into my lawyer’s office every morning and turn on “Rock You like a Hurricane” by the Scorpions but he has important calls and he likes to have quiet time between 7-11 am. I seriously love music. If it were up to me, I’d install a song of anyone’s personal choice into their doorbell so that every time someone came to their door whether it be a bad guy, a Jesuit, a severely angry activist, a solicitor selling pots and pans, a goth girl named Karen, they could all go to the door happy to invite whoever it may be into their house. I’ve got at least 70 different CD’s in front of me at the moment, each one of them mean something different to me. I actually used one as a plate one time, another for a presentation on the radius of the sun, and even one that I mistook as my Me, Myself and Irene DVD. It’s a rough world out there baby. Get up and dance. Don’t forget to eat before you break a sweat. I had a cousin who danced too hard without eating and ended up in the ICU for eighteen weeks. Peace, love and proton injections at McDonalds.


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