No turn signals on an F-18

You know why God invented music--loud, boastful, heavy thumping music? So, middle-aged white men, like my self, can car dance. I was driving to summer school this morning. I had stopped for a medium 'bold' from Copper Star Coffee and was on my way to work when Kenny Loggins started.

Now I have dear friends, one of which is Bob, and Bob loves and plays music. He also listens and talks about musicians as if he is discussing a fine Bordeaux from the hills of France. He talks about groups that no one, except his kind, have heard of. Now, here's the thing. I am not a music guy. I don't hear the words very often. But Bob does. He hears the 'heart' of the music poet and can discuss it forever. Some of the best music I have heard has been Bob's. So much so he is the fictional band in Holyground which plays in Moreno's Bar. But Bob's music you don't car dance to. You sip a fine wine and ponder great thoughts to his music. Kenny Loggins you turn way up and yell. At least you do if you are a middle-aged white guy. If you're not yelling, it's because you are in a steep left bank trying to get tone on an enemy bandit.

One time, while driving my family somewhere, I had Loggins music in the CD player and the theme to Top Gun came on. I turned it up and accelerated the car to way beyond the posted limit. I wasn't driving a Corvette or a Camaro; I was driving a Kia Sorento, a white man's version of the Caprice Classic nine passenger wagon. But to me, it was an F-18 Hornet off of the Ronald Reagan posted somewhere in 'The Gulf''. Someone in the back seat asked a question. I'm not sure what the question was; it was just a question. When they didn't get an answer, they asked again. "Quiet," I said. "I'm flying a plane." I emphasised the words with an evasive maneuver between a truck and a van, without the use of the turn signal, leaving a stream of fictional 20mm cannon fire across the backs of both vehicles, causing them to immediately burst into flames and wing over into the field below-where ever that was. There were no parachutes.

Okay, look, I'm a twelve year old at heart. But you get music going in a middle-aged guy's car and he will seat dance, sing, and flame enemy aircraft all day long. Instead of moving to the next song on the CD, you press 'repeat' and play it again. The mission isn't complete until you hook the #3 wire back on the Reagan.

I'm just saying.