Monday, February 04, 2008

My first time

Music plays a huge part in the day to day ebb and flow of life at the Abbey. Finding the right mix of tunes that will keep the crew motivated as well as not cause a riot can be challenging at times. Thankfully we have a pretty vast collection of music to draw from and everyone gets to have a say in what is played through out the course of the day. Sometimes that say is something along the lines of, “WTF?!” but most of the time, especially when we break out the older rock, it is “Oh man, I remember the first time I ever heard this song…”

The other day, as we rocked out The Cars, it was my turn to tell the “my first time” story.

See my dad worked in the insurance industry and had this skill for getting cars that, while they had been in an accident and were technically “un-salvageable”, however an enterprising sort (my dad) with a come along, a few strategically located tree and some creative use of a two by four could straighten the frame and make said “total loss” into “great for first time driver”. That is how my brother got his 67 Dodge Dart. At 17 he was in need of a good car to get him from the farm to his various school related responsibilities and being a pretty solid hunk of Detroit steel it should keep him out of most trouble. Most, this is MY brother we are talking about, but I digress. What is the first thing he puts in his new chariot? Why a brand spanking new 8-track tape player. Did I mention this was the late 70’s? Anyways, stealing the cabinet speakers from an old stereo found at good will, he wedged them ,faux wooden cases and all, into the back windows and managed to get a pretty good sound, that is I think it was the bass and not the re-bent frame slamming against the chassis as he thundered down the back country roads outside of rural Spokane listening to The Cars doing “Let the Good Times Roll”.

Back then seat belts were a sort of after thought, a novelty item like a hula girl air freshener or fuzzy dice. Besides, seat belts in the back seat would get in the way of what a back seat was designed for, a mobile bedroom for horny teenagers… and where your screaming, terrified younger brother would clutch madly at any available handhold as he slid about on the slippery vinyl bench seat all the while said older brother pressed one foot down on the gas, had one knee pressed against the steering wheel for control, arms flailing in time to the drum solo and doing his best to not hit any stray livestock that might happen onto the road.

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