Falling into country
Most po-dunk hippie towns, like the one in which I grew up, have atrocious selections when it comes to the radio. In the late 90s, when I was in high school, Homer offered the following options:
- the locally run public station,
- the Christian station that played funeral-esque chanting every Sunday morning before church to pump everyone up,
- the 'rock' station that played the same four songs for as long as I could remember,
- and the country station.
B introduced me to more and more country music, better stuff than what was playing on the radio. He liked to make compilations to describe how he was feeling about certain people and situations, mostly about me. 'Our song' is a country song, even though we haven't listened to it in forever.
The super spiffy thing about my new portable MP3 player is that I am listening to my digital music collection almost as much as when I was in college and living with a T1 connection on perpetual download from Napster.
I love to randomize my entire collection. I never know if it will throw some Johnny Cash between a Christmas song by Frank Sinatra and Our Lady Peace; it keeps me on my toes.
This morning It served me two country songs back to back. Not just country songs, but sappy romantic country songs. Which threw me back into a nice and warm reminiscence of falling in love with B during the last years of high school.
Like the Rain, Where the Green Grass Grows, God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You, We Danced Anyway, ad nauseum.
It's been the perfect mood-lifter.
2005
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