If Barry Gibb were only a priest

I was flying to Washington DC this week and after take-off I do what I usually do and crank up the MP3 player and drown out those around me. We were barely off the ground when the plane experienced what the captain called “light to moderate” turbulence. I’m an experienced flyer and I have had worse turbulence in my day, but there wasn’t much light or moderate about this particular case. So while hanging on to my seat with the Vulcan Death Grip and trying keep what was in my stomach actually there, the Bee Gee’s began blaring in my ear. I thought “holey crap, is this going to be the last song I ever hear”. Granted, it was the somewhat fitting song “Tragedy” but the thought of Barry Gibb screaming like a little girl in my ear as we crash into the Oklahoma country side (which is disturbing enough) just sent a shiver down my spine.

So I start frantically searching through my play list in hopes that I downloaded something, anything that would be a comforting song. Although I had over a hundred songs none of them fit the billing for a fiery plummet from thirty thousand feet. So I started thinking what would I want my last song to be? The usual suspects entered my mind like Amazing Grace, O’ Brother Where Art Thou… wait, that was a movie… and so forth. But I couldn’t really come up with any one song… so after we safely landed in DC I made it my quest to find my death song and ensure that it is always on my player. So if you see me driving down a icy road in DFW frantically searching for my MP3 player, get out of the way… I have given up.