down low, low down, no doubt

Most of my days revolve around music. I can usually wake up in the morning and immediately know my theme. Today felt like Gwen Stefani - a little edgy, a skosh cranky and going to get a haircut equals girl powered by No Doubt. I fumbled around through the stack of CDs that litter the floor of my silver bullet MPV (must remember to watch out for winding turns and turkey crossing or they slide under the gas pedal) until I grabbed the right case. Those things should have brail on them or something so I don't have to take my eyes off the road quite so much or maybe I should figure out how to work the ipod (funny story for that gadget: father-in-law found it in the back of a cab in North Carolina, owners never claimed it, Sarah got herself a cool treat engraved with a undying love poem for Ted from Amby). Here's the important part with music in the car (not always station flipping appropriate because what if you had a bad song on stun and someone heard it and thought that you liked it?) - you need it really loud, it's part of the parcel. And you need to sing along really loudly (your kids might complain, but if the volume is adequate you won't be able to hear them anyway). After a few songs or your favorite song a few times, you will loosen up and you will feel the stress and tension or sadness and anger just melt away. Sure, people might laugh and point, but who cares? I guarantee that your imaginary audience is was more critical than anyone in real life anyway. When I see people singing and doing complicated steering wheel drum solos, I applaud - Hooray for you Mr. Never Gonna be the Lead for Led Zepplin and Madame Janet Doesn't Really Sound Like Jackson and me, Sarah not-Stefani (my vocals don't really resemble the likes of Ray LaMontagne and Stevie Wonder and Norah Jones, but if the windows are rolled up, who's gonna know?). I bet there would be fewer crazed, neurotic, psychotic, road raged lunatics if more people indulged in a little theme song therapy.