It was another good day in Biff-land. And by good, I mean I survived it without experiencing too much corporate absurdity.
Or maybe the reality is that I’ve been subjected to corporate surrealism so long that it is now my normal and I just don’t notice it any more. I sure hope that isn’t true! It was never my intent to become one of the inmates at the asylum. I thought I was merely passing through. But I’m sure all of the inmates say that when they first arrive.
I am embarrassed to admit that I am listening to the soundtrack from “Saturday Night Fever” at the moment, in particularly the Bee Gees (“Stayin’ Alive”, “How Deep is Your Love?”, “Night Fever”, etc.). I didn’t even know it was on my iPod, but here it is. Boy, this sure takes me back! Saturday Night Fever came out when I was at the height (or depth) of my teen years.
You never would have believed it, if you’d known me back then, that I would ever have been caught dead (or severely maimed) listening to disco music. I was staunchly in the “Disco Sucks!” crowd back then. Around my friends or in my car, I listened to real rock (as we referred to it back then) at top volume. I listened to Nazareth and Rush and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, Rush, Boston, Kansas, Yes, and Judas Priest, Pink Floyd, and the Who (to name some of them). I sneered most superciliously and derisively at disco or anything disco-like.
I’m sure I was just overcompensating. My aversion to disco was mostly to hide the fact that I couldn’t dance a lick. And I that was painfully shy around girls. So, given those two handicaps, disco was anathema to me. But secretly I liked it. I was (secretly) a big fan of the Bee Gees. I think their music was amazingly complex to be dismissed as being so simplistic. Their harmonies were stunning. And they invented voice vibrato. Their melodies were engaging and complex. Even their lyrics, in spite of having to fit into a disco format that demanded overly-simplistic phrasing, were surprisingly sophisticated (again, given the format).
But like anything that becomes popular, disco music began to become a parody of itself and it was easy to wean myself off of it. But even now I cannot listen to “Stayin’ Alive” without walking like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever as he walked down the street carrying the paint cans.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go listen to a little Who to cleanse my palate.