One of the joys of sharing a single vehicle is we get to discuss our mutual hatred of local radio. If I had time to Google, I could confirm that all radio stations are really just run by one single horrible algorithm (I’m talking to you, I Heart Radio, I think?) that plays the shittiest songs all at the same time and all go to commercial at exactly the same time, too. So we constantly find ourselves bopping from one preset to the next trying to find something less awful than Don Henley or Eddie Vedder or Van Hagar or…whatever. By the way: it’s a terrible day when you find that the classic rock station’s playlist is actually stuff from your own adolescence rather than tunes from before your time. Related: June 2003, you still haunt me. Anyway, as we were driving around tonight, I lunged for the off button in 0.06 seconds when Rod Stewart came on.
My Better Half: “Have you ever wondered if, instead of everyone else having bad taste, YOU’RE the one with bad taste, just unable to appreciate that Rod Stewart is actually good?”
Me: “Uh, no! Have you?”
My Better Half: “God no!”
What a ridiculous question.