When driving, most of the time I listen to an audio book. When in between books or simply in the mood for music, I put in a CD or turn on the radio. When listening to the radio, I tend to choose a classical station in the morning (for instance, yesterday I heard an “historically informed performance” of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony on the way to work, and I must say it seemed a fitting accompaniment to the rush hour traffic). While driving home, I usually choose a rock station. Every so often, I drive in silence.
After work the other day, the heat and humidity hit me as I exited the building and about knocked me over as I climbed into my car. I threw my purse and black organizer on the passenger’s seat, immediately rolled down all four windows and said, “Thank, God.” Not for the air, so much, but for the end of another workday.
I turned on the radio. Nirvana’s “In Bloom” was playing:
He’s the one
He likes all our pretty songs
And he likes to sing along
And he likes to shoot his gun
But he don’t know what it means
Don’t know what it means
As I drove through the parking lot, the hot wind on my face, I decided it was going to be a not-in-the-mood-for-an-audio-book-rock-radio-station kind of drive home. A minute or so later, I crossed over some railroad tracks, singing along with System of a Down:
Everybody’s going to the party have a real good time.
Dancing in the desert blowing up the sunshine.
By this time the air conditioner had cooled things enough to roll up the windows. I switched to a classic rock station at a commercial break and rocked to Rob Zombie’s “Dragula”:
Dead I am the one,
Slipping through the trees, strangling the breeze
Dead I am the sky, watching angels cry
When he got to: “While they slowly turn, conquering the worm,” I spotted a tow-truck in front of me, stopping traffic, because he was trying to move into the turn lane he’d missed. I hit my right turn signal and started to go round him, only to have a black Eclipse, driven by a very nice looking man, zoom from behind and cut me off. His stunning good looks, however, did not keep me from uttering certain angry verbal expressions.
Later, and while struggling to merge onto the expressway, Linkin Park sang: I won’t be ignored.
It was at this point that I realized there was a blog post in the making. So, very carefully, I pulled my organizer onto my lap, got a pen and piece of paper, and jotted down the song titles, so I wouldn’t forget them. Right after that, I sped around a guy going 50 in a 65 mph zone.
Velvet Revolver’s “Fall To Pieces” played next, but though I usually like their music, it’s not a favorite. I switched rock stations a few times but couldn’t find anything else I wanted to listen to. As I pulled into our subdivision, I tried the classical station and ended my drive listening to Mozart’s…aw, I forgot to write it down. Whatever it was, though, I enjoyed it.