Crappy Days

It’s a crappy day; don’t tell me otherwise. There’s snow mixed with rain, or vice-versa, and lunch with my favorite people was cancelled because three snowflakes doing the Macarena on their way down to earth are enough to close the schools and US Government, and back up traffic for miles.

I am sitting in my crappy rental car listening to a crappy radio station playing crappy songs that I didn’t listen to twenty years ago. They were crappy tunes back then and now they’re golden oldies. I have a rental because my trusty 30-years-old two-seater blew a head gasket. Also, it overheats; one of the two engine fans isn’t working. And there’s as slow leak in the power steering system. My $28-a-day Japanese rental is a bottom of the line Nissan. It hesitates when I press the accelerator and there’s six inches of play in the steering on either side. I swear the car wanted to roll over and play dead when I got on Interstate 66 and semis passed me doing 80 to my 65.

In town, people are weaving in and out of their lanes and there’s not a blinker in sight, except for an Asian woman in a Mercedes SUV. She’s on the phone, signaling a right turn. She turns left in front of me and for a mad moment, I want to follow her, catch her at a stoplight, grab her phone and grind it under foot. It took me a half-hour to find the gas tank cap release lever, which was cleverly hidden in plain sight on the dash.

What in the world am I listening to? Alice in Chains? New Kids on the Block?  The DJ, between songs, is talking to his woman sidekick about opioid irregularity. People are calling in to tell the listening audience all about the intestinal issues caused by their OxyContin use. One man says the trick is to take your opiates with a healthy slug of prune juice. The DJ is ecstatic about this smidgen of information. He jokes, he makes farting sounds; his colleague is thrilled and makes sounds as well, lighter, more feminine ones. I am wondering if this is the future—drug dependency and an entire school of humor based on digestive difficulties.

It’s a crappy day. A woman friend with whom I was planning to record some music was assaulted recently. She’s shook, understandably, and my reaction is one of rage. WTF?  

OMG, they’re playing 2000 Light Years from Home, the worst Rolling Stone song ever! Back in the day, Mick Jagger, in a burst of well-deserved shame, tried to buy back every album that song was on. I read it on the Internet so I know it’s true.

Now the sun is peaking through.

It’s a crappy sunny day. Don’t try to tell me different.