I have the worst taste in music. I know because my kids have told me so -- and they know because they've caught glimpses of my running music list. Let's just say there's some Josh Groban on there and leave it at that. Run away.

BIMD (back in my day) you had mix tapes. Party mix tapes, driving mix tapes, dance mix tapes. Now my "tapes" are all about my goals, not to enjoy. Work music and running music--those are the two times I use music. Key point is I use, not enjoy, music these days.

Work music is basically a Pandora channel of movie theme music. Sometimes I listen to Chopin or other classical works, but only when I'm writing a historical. Otherwise my pacing is off. When I work, the music has no words.

Running music...nothing I'd sit around and listen to on my own, except perhaps Bittersweet Orchestra or National. And my kids introduced me to most of those bits.

* * *

In other news, chickens grow up fast. Usually I mean chickens, referring to my own nearly adult (sob) punkins. This time I mean something more literal.

That statement holds true for either value of chicken.

Oh hey, something funny about that picture. On the far right is a pan. I have roasted hundreds of chickens in that thing. Now it's a favorite resting spot for walking, breathing chickens. 


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