Chinless Man of the Week

Chris Wall


There seems to be a musician-themed tangent to our recent Chinless Men, but really now...who's complaining? Chris Wall, ladies and gents! The weakly be-chinned frontman of the Bournemouth born 'n' bred band Air Traffic. Look at him; perched with delicate balance atop that guitar case, tickling those ivories with talented delight whilst fully aware of the glory his profile is casting upon that fish-eye lens. Tasty. Whether he's wailing into a microphone, bashfully being interviewed, or composing catchy hooks involving a chorus of cacophonous kazoos, Chris Wall is quickly reaching the higher ranks of our Chinless Men of the Week.

That's One Way To Start Your Friday

For the last year (almost exactly) I have started my Friday mornings by listening to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" as a way to stave off the end of the week malaise caused by a soul crushing job. Granted that this time last year I was working in a job I absolutely LOVED, hanging out with asshole teenagers all day and making the most obscure references possible whilst re-enacting trench and/or guerrilla warfare, but that's besides the point.

I still follow this strict Friday morning ritual, having added to the playlist the following tunes:

"Lady" by Styx
"Final Countdown" by Europe
"Any Way You Want It" by Journey
"Mr. Blue Sky" by ELO
"Come Sail Away" by Styx
and
"Cold As Ice" by Foreigner

I have also added to the mix two roommates who seem to enjoy these fist-pumping songs almost as much as I do. In fact, I find it hard to imagine any Friday morning without the scrubs laden ER Nurse and X-Ray Tech air-guitaring and jump kicking their way through the house along with my high-heeled Legal Assistant self, all of us using various kitchen utensils as microphones (I myself tend to favor the pancake spatula as I find it offers an excellent rotund shape reminiscent of the olde-timey microphones the likes of which Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday once crooned their lovelies into).

This ritual, as odd as it may seem, has replaced the Early Morning Shower Concerto (See: Ferris Bueller's Day Off) and is followed by the A.M. Commute Symphony in G(as) in order to guarantee an excellent start to my Friday mornings sitting in the corner of my vanilla colored office where my co-workers seem to think I am either a) deaf, b) nonchalant and as thick-skinned as a rhinoceros, or c) so absolutely retarded that I don't know what it means when their voices drop as I enter a room and the guilty stares begin darting everywhere but to my face.

Oh yes, and things like this make my Fridays bearable as well: