There is an excellent scene from season one of Weeds where Nancy Botwin, America’s favorite pot dealing soccer mom, has to hand over her Land Rover to her dealer as collateral for a debt she owes. In turn, the dealer hands her the keys to a tricked out 1980’s Cadillac hoopty, complete with those hub caps that continue to spin even after the car has stopped moving. On her way home, Nancy is stopped at a stoplight when some thugs in a fancy Escalade pull up next to her, their window rolled down, their stereo bumping. Nancy’s got an arm resting out her open window as she glances over and then turns back to turn up her stereo, ostensibly to show up the guys in the car next to her. And out blares the tell-tale Bum, bum, bum bum… Bum, bum, bum bum — the theme song to All Things Considered on NPR.
Aw yeah.
I felt a little like I was channeling my inner Nancy Botwin today as I was bouncing around the neighborhood with my windows rolled down, and my stereo blasting… Kenny Rogers. The Best Of, baby. Cuz that’s how I roll.
Everyone considered him, the coward of the county…
This is the kind of music that typically begs to be played quietly indoors, isn’t it? Maybe in the basement? When there’s no one else around? Today when I got home from work, I found a package on the kitchen counter, a padded envelope from my friend C in California. A few months ago, when I learned that he was, for some reason, heading to Cracker Barrel, I had jokingly urged him to pick up a copy of Kenny Roger’s latest greatest hits cd for me. I had completely forgotten about my off-handed comment until I ripped open the envelope today.
Kenny hasn’t aged gracefully physically, and really, his music is just as cheese-tastic today as it was when I first started listening to him oh so many years ago. But there’s something about him… It just brings back such good memories, which, frankly, is a little surprising because usually when I think of those young tween years the word that most often comes to mind is “awkward.”
I popped the cd into the car stereo this afternoon as I set out to take care of some errands, and found myself singing along, word for word, to all of the songs. You got to know when to hold them…. But we rely on each other, uh huh… I used to think the lyrics to Lucile were “You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille. Five hundred children, and a crop in a field.” But when you listen to the digital recording, it’s clear that we’re talking not about 500 children, but five hungry children. See? I learned something.
Anyway. My point is… What? Nothing really. Just that I had a fun time this afternoon singing bad 80’s country songs by myself and remembering those days long ago when the Columbia Music Club suckered an eleven year old me into unknowingly agreeing to to buy a whole shoebox full of cassette tapes of bad pop music. It was all about Kenny Rogers and Air Supply back then. Life was indeed simpler.
I’m just glad that I don’t care (much) what people think when they see this middle-aged soccer mom cruising the neighborhood, grooving to undeniably ungroove-able tunes…
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Apropos to absolutely nothing, here’s a sweet little video that features the two neighborhoods where I lived prior to moving here to Stepfordton. I thought this was hysterical.
image from: http://shop.crackerbarrel.com/
eleven bee 
that video was HIlarious!!!