There were a lot of good things about the past weekend, which I intend to write about. Having these good things was nice, and much-needed, because frankly, February was a rough month around here.
But there was one tragic, disappointing thing that happened over the past weekend, and it deserves, needs, demands to be mentioned.
There I was, browsing through a store in Boston, happily holding with pride to my claim to fame that I must, surely, be the last and only person in the world to have never, not even once, listened to the song 'Gangnam Style.' This was a good thing. I liked it this way. I was actually rather pleased about it. My avoidance of the song represented such a departure from cultural norms -- not to mention such good taste -- that it deserved to be spoken of in run-on sentences and with more than a few superlatives.
And then the song began to play over the store speakers.
I knew it was 'Gangnam Style,' because amidst indiscernible lyrics and unremarkable music, I heard those words pop through. "Gangnam Style!"
I can no longer say that I've managed to avoid hearing the song.
I told you it was tragic.
That is all.