This is Actually a Post Within a Post

***The following paragraphs have practically nothing to do with the matter I want to discuss, and can be replaced with "I went to the doctor today, and was stuck in Richmond for three hours with nothing to do," if you want to get straight to the point and don't want to listen to random thoughts on my doctor visit.***

I went to the doctor today, and he confirmed that I am, in fact, asthmatic, except he went ahead and did a breathing test on me to show me that, contrary to what I've been telling myself for years, my asthma isn't exercise-induced. Apparently, most people are able to take really deep breaths without violently coughing afterwards. Who knew?

The breathing test showed that my lungs operate at 81% capacity, and I was told that they should operate at 100%. I probably could have figured that part out on my own. The end result of this is that my inhaler is now once per day in addition to as needed. This rather sucks.

I found this doctor through my dad, mainly because I did not want to go to the incompetent Dr. Vet School Dropout who's office is a block away from my apartment. This doctor operates in an office a good 40 minutes away from my apartment, but I feel it's worth the drive. The extra fun part is that he has his mission statement posted all over his waiting room, and it reads "My ideal medical practice is one that embraces the scientific methods and achievements of the West without ignoring ancient healing traditions from other cultures." I'm hoping I can get my lungs moxibusted next time I'm there. But seriously, I think he's really good thus far.

None of this has anything to do with the post I intended on writing. I just mentioned the doctor because my appointment ended at 11:30, and I have to work at 2:30, and didn't want to drive an hour round trip to go home for two hours, so I stayed in Richmond and looked for ways to kill three hours' time.

***Those of you who skipped may now rejoin the rest of us***

So I was stuck in Richmond with nothing to do for three hours, and decided to go shopping for a Tom Petty cd that I don't already own. There are only three: "Hard Promises", "Long After Dark" (which is the album Petty is least proud of), and "Southern Accents". These cds are tricky to find because the only tracks that get any radio play now from these albums are "The Waiting", "Don't Come Around Here No More", and very rarely "You Got Lucky". Since they aren't old enough to be 'classic' albums, they have yet to be remastered, apparently. My only hope, therefore, was Side 1 Music, a nice music store with very informed staff that always make me feel like a loser with bad taste.

I didn't find any of my Petty albums, despite the staff's eagerness to help me out. Instead, I ended up perusing their random mishmash of used CDs and purchased three for a very acceptable price. The problem is that every time I buy cds, I wonder what I'm revealing about my personality, tastes, and general level of culture. I could never be a music store clerk because I would silently analyze and judge everyone who bought cds on my shift. Here are the cds I purchased today:

1. K's Choice, "Paradise In Me". I know absolutely nothing about this album or even the band, but I liked the song "I'm Not An Addict" from Wild Things. I was 16 when Wild Things came out in theaters, and I can safely say that there was no heterosexual 16 year old male that did not make an effort to see it. Verdict: I like boobs.

2. James, "Whiplash". I've never met anyone outside of my extended family who has ever heard of this band until I introduced it to them. I think they're quite popular in England, though. I used to have a tape of this album, but I lost it at some point, or it was eaten, and when I saw this album, I considered it a miracle that it was even there. It took me about a third of a second to grab it. Verdict: I like snooty music you've never heard of.

3. Duran Duran, "Greatest Hits". I'm not sure why, but it's always seemed to me that Duran Duran was a band that you are just not supposed to like. People have to like them. You can't get through an all-request 80s radio show without having them requested. But still, it's always with a scoff, like, "Hey, it's Duran Duran. They're always good for a laugh. I remember when people liked that type of music," and if you say, "But I still do," you get "heh, I bet you like 'Hey Mickey' too." "No, no, Duran Duran is nothing like 'Hey Mickey'," I protest, but it's futile. What's so inherently wrong with Duran Duran that I feel a stygma attached to them? Verdict: I like crappy music everyone makes fun of.

So clearly, I'm a mystery when it comes to music. A mystery who likes boobs.

(I have been listening to K's Choice for the entirety of this post. They are rather brooding, and Belgian. And I don't understand what some of their lyrics mean. They're ok in my book.)