Real Life: I Was Seduced By KCRW's Tom Schnabel

Like many LA music nerds, I'm a whore for KCRW's music programming. Not a single day goes by that I don't tune in and burn with envy (at least I hope it's envy. Otherwise, I probably should see a doctor) at the latest musical discovery.

Normally, I'm a hussy for Nic Harcourt, Jason Bentley, Raul Campos, Garth Trinidad-- hell, I'd even let Chris Douridas roofie me. But last Sunday afternoon, I was lured into the babe lair of one silver fox by the name of Thomas Daniel Schnabel. Observe:


Now, admittedly, Cafe LA is a little too World Music for my taste. I am one of those shameful creatures whose musical interests aren't sophisticated enough to endure more than a song or two of Brazilian lounge music or some obscure European import without shaking it up with a little something I can sing to-- like the entire discography of Hall & Oates, for example.

Let's cut now to my Sunday afternoon. I'm finishing up my LA Times Sunday crossword puzzle, quietly praising the good Lord above to be listening to anything but Le Show, which I openly despise (sorry, Harry, but this one does NOT go to eleven), and I hear it: a little bit of magic that made me tickle in my funny parts:



I know, you guys! I know. It kind of just crept up on me. It's like one of those guys that's been friends with you for like 10 years, and he's giving you what appears to be a harmless platonic massage on the shoulders, let's say-- which you willfully accept just to ease the ol' girl's tension from the day, and who wouldn't?-- when suddenly you feel a stiff poke on the lower back, and then it gets awkward because it's like, do I ask this guy if it's something in his pocket? I mean, besides his erect penis? And now do I have to have this weird conversation with my old friend, that I never thought I'd have to have, because I always kind of thought we were on the same page? You know, that page about being totally out of his league and him never having a snowball's chance in hell?

I mean, I'm not saying that happened. But if it did, my creepy friend's boner would be like my realization about one minute into this sweet little ditty that maybe, just maybe, I kinda like it.

I gotta go call my friend. My neck is stiff and I don't wanna watch Project Runway on DVR alone.

Sincerely,

Babs

Update: I just watched Diner for the first time (Good thing I'm not a movie critic. I know this is supposed to be some timeless classic, but Jesus. What a snoozefest.) and was pleasantly surprised to hear this panty-dropper featured in the soundtrack! What can I say, I'm an old soul.