The Walk to MSG

I was walking towards Madison Square Garden and feeling a little discombibimbapulated. I had just eaten more Korean bibimbap than the surgeon general and the gastroenterologist lieutenant recommends in one sitting. I was with a friend and we were on our way to see a comedian. My friend is a big fan of the comedian. I'm less of one, but I know from experience that a show is more enjoyable when you display similar emotions as the person you went with. I have a flashback to me broadly grinning at a Hall and Oates concert and my date sitting stone(d) quiet. At that night's show, for my friend's sake, I was going to do what the crowd handlers at Letterman's show say before each show, laugh if it's close.
I'm not very good at laughing when it's close, so I sat quietly through the first 3/4 of the show. I was caught out in the cold on some of her pop references, but near the end she told a nervous tale about her new relationship and I experienced the comedy cycle: smile, pain, laugh, pain, smile.

Delirious

My assistant is compiling a list. I'm standing behind her when she asks me what song is running through my head. The song is "Delirious Love" by Neil Diamond and I'm surprised that she knows that my mind is elsewhere. I'm unenthused about the work but was I humming? Were my finger trips drumming?
Should I tell her that I'm thinking of a Diamond song? Shouldn't I name someone more of the moment, like Modest Mouse or Arcade Fire?
I tell her it's a Diamond song, because I'm convinced that my lies are obvious, like the elephant in the room that's wearing no clothes. I wait for her to ask me why I'm thinking about that particular song but she doesn't ask. That's fine because I don't have answer.
If she had been listening to my thoughts that morning she would have thought that the Diamond song was over an hour in length instead of a three minute pop song on repeat.