Kill the Wabbit... KILL THE WAAAH-BIT!

I have recently become what you may call a "fan" of classical music. I have always liked it – except for a brief stint in my early teens when I decided music without lyrics A.) was for old people and B.) could never be as expressive as music and lyrics. Mind you, I was a teenager during lyrics like:
"The blonde waitresses take their trays
Spin around and they cross the floor.
They've got the moves (Oh-Way-Oh)
You drop your drink then they bring you more"
And
"Karma karma karma karma karma chameleon,
You come and go, you come and go.
Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dream,
Red gold and green, red gold and green."
And that's when The Fat Boys, Tiffany, or the latest cog in the pop machine wasn't remaking a 30-year-old-song from Motown.

I have been exposed to classical music all my life. My grandmother played and taught the piano and organ. I have heard it regularly in my many years of ballet classes, humanities classes and Bugs Bunny cartoons. I had just never gone out and bought a classical CD before this weekend. Let me tell you, it's not as easy as it sounds.

While I have heard a lot of classical music, I am much less familiar with the names of the compositions. So I end up in the middle of Best Buy trying to get myself some of that ever-elusive customer service from a 17 year old who is listening to death metal on his i-pod so loudly I can hear it from 3 feet away.

"I am looking for that one that goes 'da da da dum, da dum, da dum,'" I attempt.
"Da, dada doo, dee doo, dee doo?" he asks.
"No, da da da dum, da dum, da dum!" I tell him.
We go on like this for a while until the whole thing becomes an Abbot and Costello routine and I am reduced to buying "50 Classical Masterpieces" from the $4.99 section and playing a weird version of classical music roulette on the drive home; making frequent use of my SEEK button and hoping to recognize something.

By some small miracle I do actually recognize most of what I ended up with and it is a welcome change to the mess they play on the radio during my long commute each day. So, I guess, muffin is happy. That is rarely the result when I am forced to leave my own home. I guess music really does sooth the savage beast.