When I can't think of anything in particular I want to listen to on the subway for my morning commute, I ask Miss Pod to play a random selection of songs that I haven't yet heard, an easy task since my accumulation of music is more vociferous than my listening to it (the juvenile stamp-collector retains his habits). So after hearing "Hail! Great Parent" from The Fairy Queen and "All This Time (Black Mix)" by Jonathan Peters, all of a sudden I'm listening to Coleridge's "Frost at Midnight," something I'm convinced Miss Pod downloaded on the sly, and probably on company time. But God bless her--what a great poem.
(But nobody beats Hazel Rochman for classy headphone listening. Her favorite in-flight entertainment is an old tape of Eliot's Four Quartets.)
One might think that Coleridge's wintry imagery might have put me in the mood for the morning's task: Martha and I are assigning holiday books for review. But just imagine how different English literature might look if the person from Porlock arrived with seven different (albeit alike in their utter lack of necessity) versions of The Night before Christmas in hand. Not pretty at all, no.