My silly toy car has, as is only fitting, a matching silly toy radio antenna, so my commuting entertainment options are limited. Depending on what’s on, I listen to a combination of public radio and the local “quality rock” station. You’ll note that, in their tag-line, they decline to say what quality their, um, rock is. For the most part, it’s not too bad, though their program director occasionally goes on mystifying Bob Seger benders. O gross. Mostly, though, they stick with a gaggle of interchangeable angsty boys and girls, with a fair sprinkling of older stuff. I appreciate getting to hear OMD, Led Zeppelin, and Tori Amos mixed up together. And, though I’m not the biggest John Mellencamp fan, it is Indiana and I do have a small soft spot for him.
Which leads me to today’s purpose for blathering… I grew up listening to Q95, back before Bob and Tom were syndicated. Back when they were marginally funny. Back when potty humor passed for entertaining. Back when the juvenile rebel in me said “Hell, yes!” whenever they played an uncensored version of a song containing profanity. Back when those little forbidden rule flauntings counted.
This morning, I was reminded of that feeling when our local quality rock station played uncensored versions of John Mellencamp’s Play Guitar and Steve Miller’s Jet Airliner. It’s amazing that a little forbidden profanity can have such a profound effect, but my inner adolescent said “Hell, yes!” Instant attitude adjustment! Considering it was a rainy, gross Monday morning, that was no mean feat. And, it nearly makes up for having to listen to Bob Seger every morning last week. Nearly.
red paper boat 