It's not the ads. I actually don't mind the ads on Pandora. I like it when Barry Manilow comes on with those few bars of a nice song, to share with us how he has atrial defibrillation -- "a fib," he says, casually -- and how we can find out more about it like he did. Plus, who knew Nyquil doesn't have a decongestant? I share the shock and disappointment of the guy in the commercial, and I'm glad his wife told us Alka Seltzer Plus is what we need for a cold.
So that part's okay. What I mean about the worrisome effects of Pandora is how it makes you feel like you're experiencing the stuff the singers are singing about. But you aren't. And they're hardly ever singing anything like, "Life is so great all on my own, I don't have to share the leftovers, oh no no no, I can listen to this stupid station as long as I want, oh yeah yeah yeah, and nobody knows the stuff I laundered last week was still in the dryer this morning when I went to put in the new batch."
Instead, for example, I've heard twice the Michael Buble (should be an accent acute over the "e", but I don't know how to do that) song "Home." And I'm singing along, and I am feeling it, "I want to go home, I want to go home."
But I am home.
And I'm singing, with feeling, "I'm through with Paris and Rome," even though the truth is, I was checking airfares yesterday. (And now that I've seen it costs $1500 to get to Europe, I probably am through with Paris and Rome.)
But I do wake up at the words, "I'm bringing my letters to you, the single lines I wrote from time to time" or something like that. And I'm thinking, "Jerk. You never even sent her a letter? You'll be lucky if she opens the door. You'll be lucky if she still lives there."
And then I take a bike ride, to add some verisimilitude to the concept, "I want to go home." Of course, once I'm on my bike, why would I want to go home?
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