Came back to New Orleans. Late.
Brought my son to school this morning. Late.
On the way in the car, I turn on one radio station, only to switch to another to listen to some jazz. After a few minutes, a whine wells up from the backseat.
"But Mooooom, I want the rock music."
Switch back to the first radio station, which is now playing Nick Cave's version of the Velvet Underground's "All Tomorrow's Parties". A content silence settles in the backseat.
I can't decide if this is ultimately a good thing or the first stop on the road to liking some generational-gap version of hardcore hypersexist rap or thrash metal when the little guy hits puberty. Then again, I hear my son muddling his way through the Kinks' "Plastic Man" while he's looking through the safety placard on the airplane, and I can't help but smile. "What the hell is he singing?" Dan asks. What Mommy plays for herself, I think. Which is usually a helluva lot better, in my opinion, than the Wiggles.
And hey, while we're on the subject of music....
I wanna be Sharon Jones when I grow up.*
Update, 11:10 PM: Especially in light of the fact that the guv'mint will now be taxing Winding Goat Path Home grant recipients. I hope the feds are proud of themselves. No name I could call them right now would truly express the magnitude of my disgust.
*How old school does she kick it? Bushwick, Brooklyn old school.