After five years, my car belongs to me. I mailed the final payment at the beginning of last month, and then did the sensible thing. I sat back and waited for something to break. And something did indeed break. Was it the radiator? Nope. Did the clutch go? Nope. I was anticipating those problems. But guess what happened instead. My tape deck quit working.
One day not so long ago, I got into the car on my lunch break, and placed a cassette in the player. It flipped back and forth between sides several times, and then the digital display told me Err Play and spit that cassette right out. "I see," thought I, "the car hates Journey today." The Journey tape gives me a little grief sometimes anyway, so I wasn't worried. I tried Hüsker Dü. That is also a fussy tape, so when that one didn't play either, I just gave up and listened to the radio.
I listen to talk radio at work, and although I like to listen to cassettes while driving, I don't mind having to listen to the radio during the day. But then night falls, and I am trapped with horrible, awful, local music stations. (Some people would claim that local radio sucks because of a certain evil empire, but that is just because it is currently very much in vogue to hate this particular empire. I would argue that local radio has sucked for years and years already, thanks to a certain evil empire that hides behind a mouse.)
But there is something that all of us can agree on: local radio sucks.
Anyway, a few days after my tape deck broke, I needed to replace my fuel pump. I was so excited! Because if the fuel pump was broken, that meant that my tape deck probably just needed to be cleaned! I had cleaned it once in five years, so I thought that might do the trick. All I had to do was get to a record store (not too much of a stretch) and pick up a cleaner. Whew! Once I had solved the problem in my head, I felt free to sit back and enjoy the horrors of the radio.
My metropolitan area is currently down to one classic rock station. Up until about two weeks ago, (when my player first broke) we had two classic rock stations. They were the only stations I would listen to. We have an oldies station that I used to love, but last year they did a format shift from the 50s and 60s to the 60s and 70s. In my mind, the word oldies indicates rock and roll that spans the era that begins with Bill Haley (and his Comets!) and ends with Mungo Jerry. So, approximately 1953-1970.
Now that I can hear the Bee Gees on the oldies station, I don't even bother tuning in. (Bee Gees: good group, but not in my definition of oldies.) Doesn't some other station have a Super Seventies Saturday Sing-Along or something? Can't people go there for their Stayin' Alive needs? I want to hear doo-wop! But I can't, so I just stick with the classic rock format. And the classic rock format didn't let me down.
I was on my first evening of listening to the radio when the DJ decided to go to the request line.
DJ: "What would you like to hear?"
I couldn't wait to find out either!
Caller: "Led Zeppelin."
Glee! Classic rock callers don't disappoint me the way oldies callers do. They are predictable, yes, but so very, very funny. I leaned forward in my seat, absolutely giddy with anticipation. Which Led Zeppelin song did this young man want to hear? I was hoping for that one. You know. That one. No, not Kashmir. That one that has about three words. Wait! There are two Led Zeppelin songs like that. (Keep in mind that I think the best thing about Led Zeppelin is Robert Plant's tight pants. Okay? I don't like Led Zeppelin, and I don't want to hear any more about it.)
But there is that one song where he says, "All of my love," a whole lot and then tells us where he is sending it. Then there is the other one where, "You don't have to go...oh-oh....oh-oh." I was hoping for one of those. I also would have been okay with the one where he comes from the land of the ice and snow. That one is super fun for doing exaggerated Robert Plant impersonations.
DJ: "Did you have a song in mind?"
I had three songs in mind! But I don't know their titles so I would have had to sit through the entire requested song, trying to figure out if it was one of the songs that I like. Unless of course...
Caller: "Yeah, could you play Stairway To Heaven..."
I laughed and laughed and laughed. Not only did he call a classic rock station to request a Led Zeppelin song, he requested Stairway To Heaven!
Caller: "...for Dave and Abby?"
I was gasping for air. Not only did some young man call a classic rock station to request Stairway To Heaven, it was also a dedication.
DJ: "Sounds good to me."
What a liar! The tinkly sounds of the opening riff started up, and all of my sympathy went out to the poor disc jockey. Granted, when you take that second shift classic rock DJ job, you know that has to be part of the territory, but I can't imagine that you ever get over the fact that people still call to request Stairway To Heaven. When I worked at the record store, I knew that I would have to deal with moronic teenaged Pink Floyd listeners. I knew that when I took the job, but that doesn't mean I liked it. I can only assume that the same premise holds true for disc jockeys.
As the DJ was hitting his head against the desk (I don't have proof that he was, but it wouldn't surprise me in the least), there was a girl somewhere in town thinking that her boyfriend was really dreamy because he had placed that call. How is it possible that neither Dave nor Abby owns Led Zeppelin IV? I thought everyone in the entire world owned that album, except for LCG and me. We have taste.
Look. I had a Stairway To Heaven phase. I'll tell you about it someday. In the meantime, just accept the fact that I don't like Led Zeppelin. Although my tape deck is still out of commission, which means that I am still listening to classic rock radio, and now I am just waiting for someone else to call up and request Zeppelin. In fact, I think I'm going to call my local station right now and do something even worse than requesting Stairway To Heaven.
Me: "Could you play that one Led Zeppelin song? You know, that one."
And then the DJ would play Stairway To Heaven and I would be very, very angry. If I'm going to be part of the problem and not part of the solution, I at least want to be able to dedicate the song to Robert Plant's tight pants.