I am by no means a music fanatic. Don't get me wrong, I love listening to music on long car rides, or while cooking, and I've been known to play the violin on occasion, but I do not espouse the notion that I can't go a day without my iPod, as many of my friends do. No, I much prefer the soothing voices of Rene Montagne, Steve Inskeep and Robert Seagull, the vanguards of public radio whose objective journalism provides a soothing backdrop to my aforementioned activities.

That being said, when I do chose to eschew 91.5 FM in favor of something more melodic, I, like everyone else, have specific preferences in the type of music which I enjoy. My tastes are eclectic, but by and large I enjoy any music that is not heavy metal or played at the Grand Ole Opry. Janis Joplin, John Mayer, Edith Piaf, The Beatles, Diana Krall and Michael Jackson are just a few of the varied names and that appear on my play lists.

As I have mentioned before, the Utopian lobby of my dorm is home to a black grand piano, its shine matted with wear but in excellent shape nonetheless. Everyday without fail, there is someone who takes it upon himself to give a performance of what largely consists of classical tunes. These expositions are fueled by both a genuine desire to practice and a somewhat egotistical urge to demonstrate their talent at the black and white keys. For the most part I am grateful for such displays of talent and musical prodigy. While I revel in the ambient noise of hushed conversations, the computerized beeps of the turnstile and the clink of knives and forks from the cafeteria below, a subtle change of ambiance is appreciated.

However, it is important to note that, much like the court jesters of medieval Europe, providing entertainment in my lobby is a privilege, subject to revocation at my discretion. If you should find your fingers lacking in dexterity, your sense of rhythm marred by the unpredictable hustle and flow of dorm traffic, do not attempt to wrestle a ballad from the 88 keys diametrically opposed in tone and shade. Such insolent behavior serves only to anger and distract me from my work, and as you are here at my unspoken bequest, be considerate of my eardrums lest they doth protest too much to your hideous rendition of "Heart and Soul".

Such was the case earlier today, when as I perused a book while sipping my usual coffee, a friend of a friend approached the piano, audience in tow. As she began to play, I was put at ease by her skilled command of the instrument. She was clearly a talented pianist, and her performance was a pleasant addition to my lobby. My approval was premature however, as soon after she began her medley she added a layer of dissonant, nasal vocals, the kind which sounds nice when coupled with a jazz quartet but sounds screechy and amateurish when applied to more mainstream musical standards.

While my first instinct was anger at this atonal recital, I was also impressed (albeit reluctantly) by the girl's audacity to provide vocal accompaniment to her song selections. Her second tune was far better suited to her mezzo-soprano-aren't-my-nasal-congestion-and-sudden-dynamic-changes-charming tone, as she belted out Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" for all it was worth, a spectacle that would have been much more impressive had everyone and their mother not already done a version of the song on a. American Idol, b. A mediocre solo album. Still, I was willing to concede that I was mistaken, but I stand by my assertion that she did not have a universal set of pipes. Future performances would require an exhaustive review of her set list and hand written approval before she took to the proverbial stage and public forum that is my lobby.

Sitting in relative silence as I compose this entry, I wonder who will be next to brave the piano in an attempt to garner attention and, unbeknown to them, my silent praise and approval. If you are unsure as to whether or not your melodic offerings are worthy of reverberating through the hallowed halls of my lobby, look behind you as I lounge splayed across two unnecessarily embroidered and moderately tacky armchairs. An indulging smile or small nod is all you need to secure a spot in the annals of willing entertainers who venture into my kingdom, lusting to launch themselves to musical prominence.