Sublime Moments
One Saturday when Chris and I were on our way home from the town dump, he turned on the car radio.
Chris and I don’t have similar taste in music at all. I’m more indie/folk obscure band, while Chris leans more toward noisy man Seattle rock. As a matter of fact, since I’ve known him, I’ve actually become less interested in radio and music. It’s not that he disapproves; he’s always been willing to accompany me to any concert, even when he hasn’t heard of the band. (As he remarked once, dourly, “Sometimes it’s better to be surprised.”)
But because our musical tastes don’t overlap, I just haven’t had as much time as I used to have to devote to music. So usually when we’re in the car together, we either listen to comedy CDs or Chris lets me station surf.
This time when Chris turned on the radio, he heard a song he liked and immediately began singing. Unlike me, Chris actually knows the lyrics to songs.
“Well I had a million dollars but I’d spend it all, if I could find that heina and that sancho that she’d found, well I’d pop a cap in sancho and I’d slap her down…” he warbled.
I interrupted. “What kind of song is this? What the hell–Is this about domestic abuse?”
Chris kept singing. He nodded at me, which I interpreted as meaning I could keep talking but that he wasn’t available to respond just yet.
“Why’s he beating up women?” I demanded.
Chris came to a break. “It’s about how his girlfriend cheats on him with his friend,” he explained quickly.
He kept singing. “Tell sanchito that if he knows what’s good for him, he best go run and hide, Daddy’s got a new .45, and I won’t think twice, to stick that barrel straight down sancho’s throat, believe me when I say that I got something for his punk-ass…”
“Good lord,” I said. “So he just shoots his friend?!?”
The song ended. “Good song,” Chris remarked approvingly. “Sublime really was a great band.”
Chris punched a few of my preset radio channels, landing on…yes, another Sublime song.
“Another one!” he yelled. He broke into song.
“I don’t cry when my dog runs away, I don’t get angry at the bills I have to pay, I don’t get angry when my Mom smokes pot…”
“That’s because he has no friends left,” I said sourly.
Posted by: ssjane | June 22, 2005 | 10:17 pm
Posted in: This Life