I'm back. Just call me the Prodigal Blogger.
At any rate, I have returneth. Just a quick public service announcement: I will be test driving the occasional “th” ending instead of “ed” on verbs in the past tense in an effort to bring back good old fashioned sophistication.
Speaking of old fashioned and sophisticated (except, not really), my siblings and I spent a lot of time together in the car this past weekend driving back and forth from some family obligations. Despite the fact that I possess some pretty impressive driving skillz, the Powers That Be (Mom and Dad) designateth Phil as Chauffer #1. Emily sat in the backseat and put a great deal of effort into pretending that she couldn’t hear, see, or speak to me or Phil. That’s not necessarily different than your average day, but this weekend it earneth her the official title of Teenage Sister #1.
And last but MOST CERTAINLY not least, I took the position as Peacekeeper and Navigator #1.
(I don’t know where all these "#1"s are coming from. I guess I think they make these titles sound somewhat legitimate.)
If you’re thinking, “Wow, Peacekeeper and Navigator #1 sounds like a really tough job!” I will take this opportunity to tell you that you have never been more correct. It’s not easy sitting in the passenger seat reminding Chauffer #1 and Teenage Sister #1 of the importance of staying CALM, COOL, AND COLLECTED because no matter how angry you get, it won’t make the salt truck driving in front of us at the speed of a tired snail move any faster and won’t you will all be grateful tomorrow morning when we get an ice storm that these roads have been salted?!!
Combine that with my occasional directional suggestion like “I REALLY THINK YOU SHOULD TURN LEFT AT THAT GAS STATION” or “I SURE HOPE YOU SEE THOSE BRAKE LIGHTS IN FRONT OF US!!” and you can imagine the peace and joy that filleth the car.
Not only is the position of Peacekeeper and Navigator #1 is an emotionally exhausting job, it’s a thankless one too. I know this because Chauffer #1 is still the person who gets to pick the music. Which meant that for the first two trips back and forth to my grandparents’ this weekend, Phil changed the radio from one classic rock station to the next no less than 17 times a minute. Evidently he is allergic to a good chorus. Which is ashame, really, because the chorus is usually the only part of a classic rock song that I know all the words to.
And now that I think about that, the whole thing is very coincidental.
Anyway, by our third trip the other night, we had all had enough of the oft-changeth rock and roll songs. Even Chauffeur #1. The time had come to say sayonara to classic rock and HOLLA to a new genre.
I campaigned solidly for some Delilah, the self-professed Queen of Sappy Love Songs. Anyone else a fan? I’m not ashamed to say that I envy her natural, unrivaled talent for picking a song that is perfectly appropriate for any given person’s life story.
“Oh, hello Marjorie. You mean to say that in the last year, you have been in a car accident, fallen in love, lost your job, bought a new car, painted your house, fallen out of love, gotten a new job, planted a beauuuutiful garden of tulips, discovered a long lost cousin, traveled to Spain, joined a book club, found love once again, discovered the true meaning of life, and found the perfect jeans that don’t shrink in the wash or get too tight around the knees for a bargain price? I have just the song for you.”
And then after a quick commercial break, Delilah comes back with a song that was just WRITTEN for Marjorie, her jeans, and the tumultuous past twelve months of her life.
And no, I NEVER, EVER PRACTICE HYPOTHETICAL DELILAH SCENARIOS. But eventually Delilah will need to retire, and someone will have to replace her. And that someone better be prepared. That’s all I’m saying.
Plus, Delilah and I are kindred spirits, because we both happen to have a deep appreciation for eighties ballads. I’m looking at you, REO Speedwagon.
I’m sad to report that even though my campaign for Delilah was a hard fought one, with the bonus of a quick Peter Gabriel imitation by yours truly, I couldn’t win Phil over.
I CAN’T IMAGINE WHY NOT.
Instead, he turned on Power 99FM, Philadelphia’s Best Bangin’ Hip Hop n’ RnB. The DJs on that station say the FM part every time. It is absolutely vital to the station name, lest you switch your dial to AM and become perplexeth as to why the station numbers are in the thousands and WHY OH WHY you cannot tune into any Ginuwine or Lupe Fiasco. A great car ride can take a horrible turn when one cannot locate Mr. Fiasco on their radio dial. Not that I would know from experience or anything.
For a little while, we rode along to the melodic sounds of Fabolous and Tyga. Keep in mind that we were traveling through suburban Pennsylvania in a family sized SUV, so our street cred? THROUGH. THE. ROOF. I think Emily actually took her coat off and put it over her head.
After three or four songs, Phil pointed out that there has been a noticeably wimpy change in the alcoholic drinks the rappers of today are enjoying. Rappers of 2008 were enjoying Patrón and Cristal. I can attest to this fact not only because my buddy T-Pain sings about Patrón on a regular basis, but also because in college I attended both a TI concert and a Jay Z concert, and they both mentioned Cristal.
However, the rappers of today are apparently daintily sipping rosé. According to Phil, one must look far and wide to find a drink girlier than rosé. Never fear though, it was a long car ride, and Phil had time to search his brain far and wide, and came up with two drinks that are indeed girlier. Chablis and hot tea. English breakfast, to be exact. He even composeth a little rap song of his own about them right then and there, and it was one that would make even Ludicrous envious. Just call him Phil-Swizzle.
Our favorite song of the trip, though, was “Fancy.” A compilation of Drake, TI, and Swizz Beats. I think it was our favorite because it was the only one we could really understand, because pretty much the only words were, “Oh you FANcy, huh?” Well, there was one part where one of the guys (I think it was Swizz) started talking about how he had some sort of a falling out with a girl named Tammy, but we couldn’t figure out exactly what had happeneth between Tammy and Mr. Beats because it was a lot of BLEEEEEEP.”
So we just kept saying, “Oh, you FANcy, huh?”
We kept it up the whole night. Unpacking the car. “Oh, you FANcy, huh?”
Feeding the dog. “Oh, you FANcy, huh?”
Finally poor Emily had enough, and went up to bed.
I went into her room a few minutes later, because every night around her bedtime my feet JUST WALK THEMSELVES IN THERE and my mouth JUST STARTS TALKING. I really have no control over it.
The whole night Emily had rolled her eyes at us. Sighed loudly. Implored us to please, just act normal. Saying that none of us were indeed "fancy."
But oh, look how I found her...
A satin red sleep mask adorning her lovely face. You know what I have to say about that?
"Oh, she's FANcy, huh?"
Anyway, that's pretty much what's been going on around here.
And I bet you wish you had poureth yourself a glass of rosé before you sat down to read this.