Musical Intervention

It’s no secret that I love music. A wide variety of music. But some of my friends and family seem to think I am obsessed. Perhaps. Judge for yourself.

My friend told me I had a Tom Jones obsession. I told him, “It’s Not Unusual.”

My mother told me I had an Elvis obsession. I told her, “That’s Alright, Mama.”

A co-worker told me I had a Police obsession. I told him, “De do do do, de da da da is all I want to say to you.”

A grocery store checkout clerk told me I had a Boston obsession. I told him, “It’s More Than A Feeling.”

My brother told me I had a Paul McCartney obsession. I told him, “Live And Let Die.”

A local baker told me I had an Eagles obsession: I told him, “Take It Easy.”

My hairstylist told me I had a Bee Gees obsession. I told her, “It’s just your Jive Talkin’. You’re telling me lies.”

My bandmate told me I had an Aerosmith obsession. I told her, “Dream On.”

A member of the British Commonwealth told me I had an Adele obsession. I told him, “Rumour Has It.”

I thought I had a Temptations obsession, but it was “Just My Imagination.”

My mechanic told me I had a Bachman-Turner Overdrive obsession. I told him, “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet.”

My optometrist told me I had a Doobie Brothers obsession. I told her, “Listen To The Music.”

A piano tuner told me I had a Billy Joel obsession. I told him, “You May Be Right.”

Old bones. Young heart. Focusing on a wide variety of creativity. @markstarlin

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