The morning started a little rough when my truck battery decided to play dead. Actually there was no feigning of anything and to be truthful it began more than a little rough. The turning of the key produced nothing more than a click, and I in response invented some new words in my fit of frustration. Forgive me if I misquote and since these are not real words I’m uncertain of the spelling. I believe it was, ‘Fricken-fracken, piece ‘o’ schnacken’!
Locating the right tools to remove the battery devoured my last bit of patience, or so I thought. Perhaps it was the seized bolt for the battery hold down bracket, or when the corroded positive terminal broke off in my hand. It’s very difficult to determine which event caused the unhinging to take place, and quite possibly it had been a cumulative effort on behalf of all things mechanical to persecute me.
Actually my morning/afternoon exercise in frustration turned in a positive direction from this point on. To my surprise the auto parts store not only had a new battery that fit in the same physical space, having the same specs in regards to cranking amps, they had the old style terminals (significantly more substantially engineered).
Not until my drive home did I recall that my wife’s car had satellite radio. Perhaps music does soothe the savage beast. Since neither my wife nor my impossible-to-please teens were in the car I sought out the station of my choice. Suffice it to say I found my fix in the form of a station appropriately named ‘Hair-Nation’, in reference to the eighties bands. The first song that played happened to be Zebra’s, Tell Me What You Want.
Amazingly after twenty-plus years I recalled each line and quickly found my screeching heavy-metal voice. Glancing in the rear-view mirror gave only a visual indication of transformation that coursed through my veins. I no longer saw cheap Walgreen sunglasses and my inch-long flattop instantly became a bleached shoulder-length mane. Reaching for the volume knob I found that once you surpass thirty-eight the digital display appropriately reads ‘max volume’. My image in the mirror became distorted as the bass made it quiver with excitement. I had almost forgotten the art of driving with your knee, but like riding a bicycle it came to me in an instant. Thankfully both my hands had been rid of the arduous task of steering just in time for my ‘air-guitar’ solo.
As if a healthy dose of Zebra was not enough, the rock gods blessed me with Geoff Tate of Queensryche blasting away the last of my frustrations with Operation Mindcrime. As an encore while I pulled into my driveway Rob Halford of Judas Priest reminded me I had been ‘Breakin’ the Law’.
P.S. To those discerning few; you may notice that I could find no images of Zebra, therefore I included the Scorpions, who entertained with ‘The Zoo’.
Locating the right tools to remove the battery devoured my last bit of patience, or so I thought. Perhaps it was the seized bolt for the battery hold down bracket, or when the corroded positive terminal broke off in my hand. It’s very difficult to determine which event caused the unhinging to take place, and quite possibly it had been a cumulative effort on behalf of all things mechanical to persecute me.
Actually my morning/afternoon exercise in frustration turned in a positive direction from this point on. To my surprise the auto parts store not only had a new battery that fit in the same physical space, having the same specs in regards to cranking amps, they had the old style terminals (significantly more substantially engineered).
Not until my drive home did I recall that my wife’s car had satellite radio. Perhaps music does soothe the savage beast. Since neither my wife nor my impossible-to-please teens were in the car I sought out the station of my choice. Suffice it to say I found my fix in the form of a station appropriately named ‘Hair-Nation’, in reference to the eighties bands. The first song that played happened to be Zebra’s, Tell Me What You Want.
Amazingly after twenty-plus years I recalled each line and quickly found my screeching heavy-metal voice. Glancing in the rear-view mirror gave only a visual indication of transformation that coursed through my veins. I no longer saw cheap Walgreen sunglasses and my inch-long flattop instantly became a bleached shoulder-length mane. Reaching for the volume knob I found that once you surpass thirty-eight the digital display appropriately reads ‘max volume’. My image in the mirror became distorted as the bass made it quiver with excitement. I had almost forgotten the art of driving with your knee, but like riding a bicycle it came to me in an instant. Thankfully both my hands had been rid of the arduous task of steering just in time for my ‘air-guitar’ solo.
As if a healthy dose of Zebra was not enough, the rock gods blessed me with Geoff Tate of Queensryche blasting away the last of my frustrations with Operation Mindcrime. As an encore while I pulled into my driveway Rob Halford of Judas Priest reminded me I had been ‘Breakin’ the Law’.
P.S. To those discerning few; you may notice that I could find no images of Zebra, therefore I included the Scorpions, who entertained with ‘The Zoo’.
3 comments:
NICE! Reminds me so much of the scene is Jerry McGuire when he finds "Free Falling" on the radio.
If you have read very much of my blog, you will know that this is exactly how I change myself. It is with completely different music (even I have to admit that it is corny). But, I put it on and I dance and I sing with my horrible voice and I clean myself up and as you saw, it doesn't take long.
And that air guitar.. did you really even care if anyone saw you? I surely hope not! Great for you... So well written.. I could picture you all the way! Kayce
rock on dude... now you are speaking a language i can understand..... i am the lady driving down the street banging my head oblivious to you or the other cars on the road.....
Kayce, I had not read about you using music to alter your moods. Doesn't sound corny to me. I'm sure it's quite effective. Since recently finding you, I've bookmarked your site and intend to read older posts. Thanks for commenting
Jodi, as odd as it may sound, it doesn't take much imagination to pictue you as a teenager, sporting a leather skirt and concert tee soaking up the atmosphere!
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