E-Mail This Article to a Friend Music to my years Life would be so much easier if only I had my own soundtrack BY KRIS FRIESWICK

If given one wish, most people would choose money, fame, power, a hot lover, slimmer hips, or all of the above. Not me. I want my own soundtrack.

You’re probably thinking that a soundtrack, while an interesting novelty, surely can’t stand up, wish-wise, to a truck full of gold bullion or a lifetime of shagging Brad Pitt. But I disagree. A soundtrack would be my key to a life filled with all your petty, limited wishes, and oh-so-much more.

Remember that scene in the beginning of Jaws, when the young woman is skinny-dipping, splashing around and having a great time in the moonlit ocean? Then it begins, that ominous bass line: just two notes, but two notes that have lived in infamy ever since. If that woman could’ve actually heard her own soundtrack, just how long do you think she would’ve stayed in the water? She would have headed to shore so fast that Jaws could have water-skied in her wake.

A personal soundtrack would enable you to see into the future — not very far into the future, granted, but far enough to tell you everything you need to know about a given situation before you learn it the hard way. How many awful relationships, bad career choices, thoughtless insults, and traumatic accidents would I have avoided if I’d only had the background tune to give me a heads-up on what was coming my way? Without a soundtrack, I feel like a clueless extra on life’s big movie set.

With your own soundtrack, you’d have power. Imagine it: it’s your first kiss with a new beau. He’s hot, rich, and sweeping you off your feet. You can’t believe how lucky you are. But what is the soundtrack telling you? A symphonic crescendo of violins in perfect major-key harmony, and it’s a green light that this is the man of your dreams. If it includes a melancholy oboe, you’ll know that although you’ll face challenges, your love will prevail. But if that kiss ends with a discordant, minor-key chord played angrily on a poorly tuned piano, you’ve just kissed Ted Bundy.

Or you’re striding up the steps of an office building for an interview you’ve anticipated for months. Listen hard: is your soundtrack a thumping, empowered Rocky-esque ode to the common man’s triumph, signaling that after months of drawing unemployment you’re back in the game? Or is it a slow, edgy acoustic number illustrating the soul-sucking uselessness of striving for the unattainable, warning that this will be the rejection that finally sends you over the edge (in which case you should just turn around, head back down the stairs, and go to a bar)?

That chick you dissed at the party last weekend — she was an heiress who likes to perform oral sex, but without a soundtrack to point out her significance when your eyes met, you thought she was just a slightly overweight secretary wearing too much eye makeup. That dress you didn’t buy because it cost too much — it showed off your curves so well that it would’ve attracted the attention of the prince of Lower Macedonia when his limo to the airport broke down right in front of your apartment building just as you were returning from walking your dog. But, of course, you don’t know all this because you didn’t wish for a soundtrack when you got the chance.

The only problem I can foresee with soundtracks is that they generally aren’t very specific. Say I’m stopped at a red light. Suddenly, the air fills with a tense, high-pitched note repeating over and over again, growing in intensity with each moment. Jesus, I think, I’m about to get in a bizarre, random, chain-reaction accident! I throw the car into drive and hightail it out of there, to avoid being rear-ended by a tractor trailer or crushed by a falling piano. Instead, my car explodes due to a hidden gasoline leak, and I’m incinerated. I’m not blind to the limitations of the soundtrack concept, but do you think your wish for unlimited wealth and power will come without a glitch or two?

Another potential challenge with the soundtrack is selecting who’ll score it. I’m going to steer away from Danny Elfman — I think he might be a little too literal for my highly nuanced life. I don’t want any alternative artists, either, because their sense of urgency concerning dangerous situations is bound to differ widely from mine, and the potential for missed cues is high. So I’m sticking with the master, John Williams. There’s nothing like a 72-piece orchestral arrangement (with full horn section and timpani) to let you know that maybe you shouldn’t be in such a big hurry to scarf down that day-old crab dip.

Kris Frieswick can be reached at k.frieswick@verizon.net