A blind date with an album

The world ought to rid itself of people whose job it is to design book covers and album covers. Instead, we ought to go about purchasing nameless, coverless books and music albums with simple prescriptions, not descriptions (i.e. “biography of an empowering woman” or “rainy day 11 PM music”). We should rely on librarians and record store employees to make wise decisions when we say, “surprise me.” We should embrace this form of “blind date.” Imagine leaving a record store (who even buys records these days anymore? Respect to you if you do) with a record, no name, no label. Or a book, with a blank cover. Instead of allowing some sort of arbitrary judgment to dictate your opinion, let the music or literature speak for itself.

Music should be appreciate for just that, right? The music? Not the person singing it, or what they look like. Ugly singers are the best, simple because you can appreciate them for what is most important: their music. You can focus on their voices, the lyrics, the melody, the beat…When looks and personality get involved, your appreciation is distorted. Are you in love with the lyrics, or the album cover? Are you enthused by the voice, or the face behind the voice?

Are you just infatuated with the story of the band? My sister constantly chatters on about a bands’ history, and I have no problem just shutting her down because I frankly, do not care. Enjoy the music, but nothing more.

In a similar way, this tendency to take a look at the shell, the mere husk of a piece of work into which someone put months of their life also carries over into our regards towards other people. An anecdote, because we all know that I’m not above including anecdotes:

Just yesterday, I was blasting all sorts of crude music from my car; the people that drove up next to me heard the ear-shattering bass emanating from my car and definitely were not expecting to see someone like me, with flippy hair, wearing a cute knit sweater in the front seat of the car. That’s honestly the fun of it all, defying stereotypes and the like.

I am probably behind the curve in comparison to lots of kids my age, but I still know of plenty high school seniors that don’t drive by themselves, either by choice or some sort of restriction.

Regardless, I’ve had my permit since sophomore year but just hadn’t gotten around to getting my license until recently. In between, it’s been simply driving with a parent in the car, but it doesn’t help to have zero navigational sense or an idea where anything is. Thus, I essentially know one route from my house to my school, and where the nearest Target is. I think I’m set.

But in all honesty, I started driving to school by myself and the experience was surreal.

Kids who already drive by themselves, I’m sure you’re scratching your head in confusion because it doesn’t seem like such a big deal, but do you remember what it felt like to drive by yourself FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME? Sitting alone, but with complete control? Cranking up the music so that the whole car starts to shake and vibrate? Making googley faces at the people idling next to you? Yes, I’m just starting to have that experience.

And it’s not so much that I can drive, it’s more about the fact that I can drive alone. And readers, you may or may not know this but I am a loner. No, I’m not lonely; I just like being alone. Simple as that.

Bleh, I’m sure that this sensation will fade as I get used to it, and once I start driving my little sister to school, but it’s nice having another thing to look forward to when I wake up in the morning.

With great power comes great responsibility – this is a reminder to myself to prioritize safety over everything, to always lock the car, to always park appropriately and not use my phone when I’m driving


One comment

  1. fifty2ninety

    Don’t want to sound too much like the old man I am, but . . . I am. Glad to hear you talking about prioritizing safety over everything. Over the years we’ve known many parents who have lost their beloved kids in accidents . . . so horrible.

    As wild as I was, my parents probably saved my life by not even allowing me to get a learner’s permit until I was 18.

    And don’t go sucking morphine patches. A friend of my wife lost her early 20s son just last week to that insanity. I still can’t believe it. And he was a good kid, too. What was he thinking?


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