LoweSox

There's something I want you to know right off the bat: I don't really listen to that much Clay Aiken. My mother does. My mother who uses my Zune Pass back in my hometown on the prairies of Montana uses my Zune Pass to evidently listen to the shittiest shit load of Clay Aiken you ever have seen. Or, rather, heard. Though probably not.

On another note, I don't listen to that much Kevin Devine, either, but evidently did during a given period in my life when I also patronized the wonderful yet since neglected service that is Last.fm. Life's made up of periods, whether the oft misused punctuates of western language or the menstrual cycles that preserve the fecundity of the entire human race. I just must have been going through one at the time. But unless you're a member of a one-hit wonder band from the late Twentieth Century, they shouldn't define your character. And trust -- you -- me, what music an individual happens to listen to does.

Now, I don't mean to sound like I don't like Kevin Devine enough that he shouldn't be labeled the artist whom I listen to most often -- I like him quite a bit -- I really do. It's just that on one occasion he played a small show at the college where I happened to get educated and I may or may not have enjoyed fifteen seconds of immediate notoriety picking up where he left off and singing the second verse of "Thank You For Being a Friend" -- the Golden Girls theme -- and wouldn't want to seem like I've dwelt on it.

Because, clearly, I haven't.