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A year or two before it became a radio single, I had a scrambled, low-fi recording of “Hey There, Delilah” set to play whenever someone visited my MySpace profile. Of all of the songs in the world, I chose “Hey There, Delilah” as the song I wanted to be identified with. Living in a snap judgment, profile picture world, this seems like a bold – if not asinine – choice.
In my version of hell, I’m always going to the dentist. I’m feeling their rubber gloves against my slimy teeth, listening to Amy Grant on the office speakers, and getting sprayed with cotton candy flavored cleaner. And they’re drilling. By golly, are they ever drilling.