All I want to talk about lately is fish, but I’ll give that a (short) break and tell you about the radio instead.
I mentioned that Curacao is filled with Dutch, Spanish, English, and the island’s Creole: Papiamentu, all of which are represented on the radio. You can hear a true Hollander talk about what Angela Merkel thinks about Greece, click a degree down to hear a Cuban bolero, another to get calypso, one more lands on something that sounds kinda like Portuguese and is a local talk show about the elections in two weeks.
At the very bottom of the FM scale we found the gringo station. I am still not sure how I feel about it.
They have no DJ, ever, and just move from one gringotastic Billboard hit to another, fading in and out, and moving between decades and genres with delicious disregard for reason.
This evening I went to rent a movie for K to watch while I’m occupied tomorrow (neither I nor the worker lass could find Eat, Pray, Love in the chaotic assortment so I grabbed something with Jennifer Aniston, that’s safe, right?) and heard a typical mix of songs.
We started with Oasis, again, and my oh my am I sick of that song. Then it was Mary J Blige, followed by Kings of Leon, Celine Dion, Nickelback, Sheryl Crow, Killers, the Bloodhound Gang, Akon, that dang Brazilian and his Mosa Mosa song, and ending with Aimee Mann.
I have two theories so far to explain this station.
1: Someone bought several of those “Best of the __’s” collections in several genres, with emphasis on the 1990s. Now That’s What I Call Music! This would explain some of the remarkable flashbacks they’ve given me. Lisa Loeb. Spin Doctors. PM Dawn. Macy Gray. Hootie and the Blowfish.
2. Someone stole the Ipods of an entire family, combined them, and plays it on shuffle. Mom gave us Alanis Morisette and Toni Braxton, Dad gave us Aerosmith and the Rolling Stones, Jenny misses her Jewel and Adele, and little Johnny is fiending for his Dre and Kanye.
Peppered in there are songs I’ve never heard, but I confess, I am always curious what we’ll get next. Will tomorrow morning be Gangsta’s Paradise or the Macarena?
(PS. The Macarena is every bit as awful now as it was when it finally went away in 1997.)