In my life I like to think I generally value loyalty in all things. I appreciate the friend that stands beside me when I go back with the guy who wronged me, and the one who buys me drinks when he wrongs me again. I buy the same makeup and have for years–loyal customer to the end…or until my face breaks out in hives and I have to switch. Hell, I even appreciate the customer loyalty events at my favourite stores. Yes I am a loyal customer and I do deserve these cheaply made free gifts I don’t really need and will never use. How did you know.
But I have a problem. I am a commitment-phobe radio listener. I have all six pre-set buttons in my car set up with a variety of my favourite music. It’s an eclectic range of top 40, easy listening, country and alternative that should, in theory, get me through my 45 minute commute to work every morning. It doesn’t. When the pre-set buttons aren’t enough I roam endlessly looking for a tune to suit my mood. That’s really the problem. Every time I get in the car my mood is so different I can’t commit to a sound. This leads me to some pretty weirdo roadtrip tune-age. The other day I randomly got some Buffalo station that played Choclair. I slumped to the side, put one arm up on the steering wheel and bopped my head to ‘Let’s Ride’ while I sat in an endless lineup of motionless cars on the highway. No matter how ridiculous I look during these special musical moments, I think what I like is the way it transforms. Sure, the guy in the Mazda next to me was shooting me weird looks (perhaps the head bopping was too much) but it’s a small price to pay for a moment with my inner gangster.
My radio browsing takes me down other paths as well and I’ll admit I get caught up in the moment sometimes. Last week I got half way through a Chris Brown song before I snapped to, and changed the station in disgust. I boycotted that particular channel before for such an infraction but I grew weak with the limitation and added them back to the pre-set rotation. This same station introduced me to the inner 12 year old version of myself that I realized isn’t all that finished making dance routines to really bad pop songs and swooning over the crooning voices of her favourite hotties. Enter, One Direction. I know they’re infants and I cringe at their cheesy song lyrics and committed super fans, but damn their songs are catchy. Don’t you know I light up their worlds like nobody else? And the way I flip my hair gets them overwhelmed. They’re so deep. Sigh…
The point is, for that 45 minutes of my day where I am undoubtedly cut off, pissed off and stuck behind an oversized transport that seems like it’s parked, I get to sing along, be goofy, be gangster, discover my inner 12 year old and stumble upon new songs that kinda touch my heart (IE. Patience- Guns n Roses- right???!). I get to escape and be everything I’m not. We all deserve a little slice of that every now and then.