Now Playing on the Vehicular CD Player

Since I've already gone and added movies to the mix (haven't seen any lately, sorry, though still trying to make it to Marie Antoinette), I might as well take the next step to music.

I have a new car. If I still had the old blog, there would have been much blogging of the agonizing, albeit mercifully brief, saga of the new car, but suffice to say I now have a nice car, which is itself a trifle agonizing, because my old ridiculous car had become very much part of my identity, even, one might say--though I tried not to say it, to avoid being obnoxious, and ridiculous, like my car, though it was, secretly, in my head, kind of important to me--an indie statement, of sorts.

I keep remembering our realtor, when we were looking for a house in Red State Capital City Suburb, and she showed us a house that was a bit more than we were looking for--a bit more money, a bit more high-end--I remember her saying, "It's OK, you deserve a nice house." In the end we didn't like that particular house, but I keep saying to myself, "It's OK, I'm a fortysomething professional mom, I can drive this car." And it's not even a fancy car, it's just so much more than my old car, and I just need to get used to it.

But the point here is that my nice new car has a CD player, and that I got used to that immediately (old indie car had a tape player, broken).

And the real point is twofold:

1) M, E, and I have our first shared pop music obsession (OK, it's belated, but nobody's perfect). We are madly in love with KT Tunstall's "Suddenly I See" which, I would venture to suggest, is a perfect pop song--politically incorrect but emotionally true, if superficial, lyrics aside (though one might argue that politically correct but emotionally true, if superficial, lyrics are definitional criteria for perfect pop songs).

We play it every time we get in the car. It's Track 9. We sing along. If we're taking a short drive and we arrive at our destination before it ends, we keep the car running. We dance in our seats. We shake our fingers at each other. We love this song.

2) I never realized Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is about love--the whole album, I mean. The thing is, I rarely put on music at home. I live with music fiends (who always put on music), I kind of like quiet (which I rarely get), and I just am not in the constant music habit. Even when I do put on a CD, I pay attention to the first few songs and then get involved in what I'm doing and forget to listen. So I know the first few songs of a lot of albums really well. But in the car you have nothing to do but listen, and I have been listening to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, and it's about love and I love it.

I mean, of course I love it, it's Wilco, but I'm feeling very Desert Island Discs about it at the moment, which makes me wonder what my other Desert Island Discs would be: Elton John's greatest hits, I'm sure, and something Dave Alvin, though I don't know which, then something loud and punky and raucous, maybe Nirvana, and something peaceful, maybe The Koln Concerts--oh god, how white and male and predictable--how many records do you get on Desert Island Discs anyway? I'm thinking five, but perhaps ten? Can't check, must stop, because I'm starting to feel like I really do match my nice, new, not-at-all-indie car. Ugh.

(In case you can't bear the mystery, it's a 2004 Subaru Outback Wagon, and now you know everything there is to know about me.)