Our dog is, essentially, an emotional cripple. Raised for the first three years of his life in a kennel, fed gruel and mash with dozens of other dogs at the same time. So, you can imagine, he has some tendencies that I like to call "home schooled." For example, he knows not of "tug," "fetch," "stay," or really any other dog game or command. He also has fairly strong seperation anxiety. So to curb that, we leave the radio on in the living room. The radio in the living room only gets one station; a Top 40 station from (you guessed it) New Jersey.
So here's what the kids listen to: The Fray. All songs in every playlist are now by The Fray. Many involve "Grey's Anatomy." All involve the piano and pain. Occasionally, to break up the monotony, there's a song about the taking off of clothes, but then it is back to The Fray for a Fraytastic 23-hour block of the same three songs by The Fray over and over and over and over AND OVER AGAIN.
Ahem.
