Taste

One of the best things about my present occupation is that it rectifies a long held grievance of mine, that I would listen to more music, really, if only I had time to do so; by which I meant, if only I had more half-occupied time to fill with another activity. Well, now I've got 8-10 hours a day of such activity, thus allowing me ample time to listen to entire albums - catalogues, even - that seemed forever on the "I'll get around to it" list.

This is a wholly positive development, though some people are inclined to wonder how I can focus - because indeed focus is of great importance to proofreading - while listening to what must sound to them like desperate and anguished shouting, all of it barely coherent; which, given the content, is perhaps preferred.

I should note here that, although you have likely inferred as much already, I do wear headphones, as does everyone else in the department, most of whom also listen to something. But, being inquisitive sorts, we are inclined to inquire as to the listening preferences of our compatriots; and, being judgmental sorts (What sort of person, do you imagine, is attracted to a job with the singular task of correcting the mistakes of others?), are inclined to comment that that, that, is barely, if at all, music; and surely, if indeed it does qualify by some technicality, it is the most vile and horrid example of the art yet known, such that the very term "art" is called into question.

If it is possible to convey such a message in good humor and with a complete lack of malice, that is what takes place. Everyone finds everyone else's taste too old, too chaste, too loud, too violent, too twangy, too poppy, too saccharin, too safe, too plain, too stale, too something. That being the case, there is common ground; for if everyone is different, then we all share that, at least.

Also, we live in a world where testicle eating fish are a thing. Really. If we can't unite against such an enemy, then truly, all hope is lost.