POSTED ON Apr 23rd 2013 BY LESLIE LOFTIS UNDER Life Admin, Music and Lyrics, Reverse Culture Shock
With a solid and growing aversion to commercials, I get satellite radio in my car, which means that I don’t have to engage in advert avoidance channel surfing. To the point, I don’t listen to country music unless I have a rent car. I forget how entertaining the lyrics can be. Just the other day I heard a song about stay-cations, not having the money for a traditional vacation so spending a week on your own front porch. The woman sung of running through sprinklers while—I just love this—listening to Jack Johnson because he is the “new Don Ho.” Who writes this stuff? Turns out, it’s Sheryl Crow goin’ country. How country music forever rides along the edge of weirdness without tipping over into the junk pile, I never quite understand.
Anyway, why am I in a rental car? Well, while last week was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week all around, we had some personal badness as well. I was rear-ended on the freeway, with all four children in the car. We are all fine. My car isn’t so lucky. It is damaged, but worse, we got caught by an unscrupulous wrecker and collision company. Any writing I’ve planned for this week has been taken with police interviews and reports. Then, this morning, we’ve had to start combating a rumor that my husband has had a stroke. Thanks to an email version of the telephone game, a personal friend of mine and professional friend of my husband’s mistook news of my father’s strokes last year. My father and husband have the same first name, making this disinformation chain rather short and quick. For the record, Yasha is fit and healthy and never had a stroke.
Throw in a few other tidbits, including the fact that my car was headed to a body shop anyway because a tree fell on it, a cancer scare for one of the dogs, and continued social transition issues for me—I can’t tell if my casual conversation gyroscopes are off because of time in another culture or time in early motherhood, but they clearly require some fine tuning—and any country song writers who happen upon this post may feel free to contact me. I’ve got enough eyebrow raising weirdness going on to supply enough songs for a concept album. Something about domestic woe that all works out in the end.