cars and music

The first time he picked me up for a date he showed up outside my house in his moms Lexus RX300. His mom is a nurse and the license plate cover declares
“Nurses have patience” This charming play on words is surrounded by quaint red hearts, because the Lexus RX 300 on its own wasn’t feminine enough. I remember thinking it was odd that he would choose to drive his mom’s car. Like I gave a damn what he drove anyway, and like I would be more impressed by him driving a girl car than by riding in the modest but adequate Honda Accord he had purchased himself.
I shrugged it off and thought that most women just though the RX300 was cute and hadn’t assigned a gender to it. I was willing to be forgiving at that time because I still liked him. So he was driving his mom’s woman car? Sure it was lame, but at least he was trying to impress me.
He opened the door for me and everything. There was that awkward space of time between your getting in the car, and the boy running about to the other side. He had just left the keys in the ignition. I could easily have jumped across to the driver’s side and made off with his mom’s car. I could drive North and start a new life in Canada. It was a charming idea, but the thought of a real date was even more charming so I sat still with my hands folded neatly in my lap like a stiff Victorian stereotype. He buckled his seat belt, we exchanged pleasantries and he turned the ignition. Out of the stereo came orchestrations shortly joined by a chorus of male voices proclaiming,
“Look at me! I’m the King of New York,”
“Are you listening to ‘Newsies’?” I asked, the shock and incredulity seeping through my voice.
“Yeah”
???
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. There he was, driving his mother’s girl car, wearing what I would later come to know as his “date shirt” and now listening to ‘Newsies’? It was all too much.
“That is so lame,” I said. I tried to use my best “I’m laughing with you, not at you” voice, but someone had to tell the dear boy how completely ridiculous his behavior was.
I’m sure most girls went mad for his ‘Newsies’ stunt. I bet it charmed the crap out of them, and they would reminisce about the appeal of a young Christian Bale.
“You can listen to whatever you want,” he said hefting his CD book over to me. I jumped at the opportunity to personally peruse his music library. I have no right to judge anothers taste in music, but most people have something redeeming in their CD collection. The ‘Almost Famous’ soundtrack, the Beatles One album, anything. I don’t feel like I’m asking too much.
Steve’s music was made up entirely of Original Cast Recordings punctuated only occasionally by a single Sinatra, several Michael Bubles and two Josh Grobans.
He listened to music for Grandmas.
In a collection of classic or alternative Rock a Sinatra would be a charming, quirky, almost necessary addition, but in the midst of showtunes it just seemed queer and sad.
There was not a single album of Rock and Roll. Even bad Rock and Roll would have been a step in the right direction. I sat back in the seat, bewildered and not sure how to proceed. With a deep sense of disappointment draped in a smile I said,
“Wanna listen to Sinatra?”