Guilty pleasures
I admit it: I occasionally listen to Delilah.
When I'm driving somewhere at night, alone in my car, it can be comforting to hear a familiar voice and some sweet love songs. The show occasionally exceeds even my saccharine tolerance (tonight a caller said something like "[my seven-month old son] is my blessing, and my two-year-old daughter is my miracle"; I have no objection to feeling that way about one's children, certainly, but saying it aloud to a national radio audience seems going a bit far, and she said it in a way that set my teeth on edge) but much of the time, I like the songs. What can I say, I'm a sap.
While I'm admitting what I listen to on the radio, I may as well confess that I also listen to country stations sometimes. Here's a particularly embarrassing example: Brad Paisley's "P.S. This Is Austin" came on this afternoon, and I actually cried.
Usually when I'm traveling I find the local NPR station and listen to that while driving. Somehow didn't come across it in a couple quick scans through the dial today, though, and didn't care enough to go look it up.
