The DeLorean

for some time now P has tolerated traveling in the car with little patience. i assume that he is bored back there, where he is required to be rear-facing until he's like 6 years old, staring at drab gray leather and what he may or may not be able to see of the very top of the sky through the side window. i ended up buying him a string of little toys that hang from his carseat handle, which he likes. upon realizing that the toys amount to a mirror/crystal ball, a drum with fringe, and a shrunken head all hanging from a whirly-doo of stars and moons, i have nic-named it his "fortune-telling playset" and constantly demand he reach into the future and resolve all my mysteries. he responds appropriately by banging the drum, staring into the eyes of the shrunken head, and bringing the mirror close to his face so he can chew on it thoughtfully. unfortunately, i can't tell you what he said because it's like your birthday wish -- if i tell you, it might not come true. sorry sucker. here, it has hypnotized him to sleep and the shrunken head has retreated unassumingly to the corner to watch.

anyway, i recently discovered, in a public restroom no less, that P loves jazz muzak. he wiggles his little body and smiles and bops his head along anytime he hears some big brass. since we finally got our satellite radio set up in the wagon, yesterday i thought i might be able to appease P with some jazz tunes and flipped over to station #72 as we wound our way over mingus mountain to prescott. so, the sun is shining. P is gurgling happily in the back seat. saxophones are streaming peacefully through the speakers. and i try to picture the rest of my life set to a soundtrack of bebop.

right. because for the last 15 years, i've spent every moment alone in a car singing angrily at the top of my lungs, a la:

step one: slit my throat
step two: play in my blood
step three: cover me in dirty sheets and run laughing out of the house
step four: stop at lake michigan and rinse your crimson hands
you took me hostage and made your demands
i couldn't meet them so you cut off my fingers
one by one.
{alkaline trio}

love songs of course (because aren't all songs love songs?), but in the angsty terms of revolution and setting things on fire and moldy milk. not g-rated. unfortunately, jazz is my future according to P. next thing you know, i'll have a closet full of flowery cardigans and blush when someone says the word "crap."

at any rate, though i'm still angsty at almost-29, i'll still give P a fair chance at loving life, at least until he turns 15 -- then we can break out the old "records" just in time for my own mid-life crisis. on the way home, we compromise with oldies and motown. alas, i try to remind myself it could be worse; P could be into dave matthews or nickelback or john mayer .... ugh.