Even an Apple Could Get the Job Done

I am in the throes of an Earworm Plague.
Please, God. Send me a melody that my head cannot play on repeat.
Marginally related: does every reggae song last so long that you think you might've already heard it AND another song AND that same first song again? Maybe reggae is the cure to the Earworm Plague.

(Cue descent into madness.)

Oh, hi. Brief year-long blog break.
Back now. Been microblogging on Twitter, but apparently SOME people think Twitter is for the tech-savvy-self-absorbed. To which I say, "Where did I put my first-draft memoirs? No, that's my typewritten autobiography with my CD of covers including vocal warm-ups. What do you think of my ironic dragon tattoo?"

(Just kidding. I don't have a tattoo.)

Speaking of personal information: Over the last week Matt twice thought that we might need a gun for protection at the studio.
Incident 1: Psychotic boyfriend fretting over old photos of current girlfriend. "Take them down and I won't have to babysit you." Yes, sir. Enjoy that thing where you die alone.
Incident 2: Jimmy John's sandwich delivery person getting a little too friendly with talk of mutiny.
I assured Matt that psycho boyfriend and the Jimmy John's guy would come back at the same time and just cancel each other out. I've seen it happen in comic books. Alternatively, let us not underestimate a well-timed unripened pear to the manparts.