The other night I was driving and recorded myself trying to sing Sheryl Crow until I got disgusted with Soak Up the Sun and stopped. I have been encouraged to share the results here. You do not have to click play. In fact, I recommend that you do not.
But if you came here to hear my Darius Rucker impersonation as it segues into a deconstruction of Kickstart My Heart by Motley Crue (WOAH! YEAH! I TOTALLY FORGOT MOST OF THE WORDS EMEFFER WOAH YEAH!) you are totally in luck.
If you didn't, all I can tell you is that I like to drive, a lot, when traffic is not a consideration, and I like to sing, when talent is not a consideration. I have no problem driving relatively long distances alone. I'm into back roads and road signs, and pretty much anywhere you put me I want to cruise around and check it out and listen to music.
I drove to North Carolina and back last weekend and left my iPod radio adapter at home. I didn't realize it until I had left and the Aquia, Virginia, Target (a ritual stopping place for me on 95 South, every single time for reasons beyond my understanding) did not turn up a clearance or even sale-priced replacement that I could justify buying to have around as a second string. So I was relegated to the radio and the weird assortment of cds I've jammed into the slot on my car door, plus a few I had in my laptop bag that I'd picked up at Best Buy (Nirvana-Nirvana, Alice In Chains-Facelift and, um, Def Leppard-Vault, hahaha) that clearly out the grunge/metal/whatever the hell roots that I have no idea I cling to so hard until I'm in front of a rack of $7.99 cds and I end up buying stuff I used to have a long time ago before someone moved and took it or I crushed it under my car seat or gave it to someone to copy and they never gave it back or any of the myriad reasons why I'm currently destitute because I spent most of my late teens and 20s buying cds multiple times.As much money as I toss into the iTunes black hole, I still probably come out ahead, seriously.
Long story short I listened to Appetite for Destruction five times nearly in a row with some breaks to scan through country stations and Christian pop stuff that I cannot stand regardless of its message and the stations that seem to cycle through that Ke$ha character and the new Britney single and FloRiDa's hot new song, Low, which is not really new but at least it's not that "You're a Jerk" "song."
By the time I got home I had perfected my rendition of G'nR's Rocket Queen, which, if you are not aware, is one of the best songs recorded by anyone, anywhere, I swear. And I had also thoroughly revisited the therapeutic practice of singing while driving, and drew a few conclusions, some rules for singing in the car, if you will.
The first rule of the singing in the car club is that there are no rules.
Obviously. That is why Hoobastank suddenly seems like a really great idea. And no I don't know how I know all the words either. Shut up.
And no, I did not hack off the end. I'm not editing this stuff. Why are you watching this anyway? Why don't you go read a book.
The second rule of the singing in the car club is that you do not have to know all the words. I mean, it's nice if you do, but who's policing you? It's also totally fine to make embarrassing noises that approximate the sounds of the instruments. This is the musical equivalent of mooing at cows or bleating at goats when you see them in fields by the side of the road.
What, you don't do that either? What is wrong with you?
And actually, bleating might not be far off of the mark.
I just remembered that my best friend in high school and I had a strange ritual where a song would come on that we didn't like and we'd go, "I hate this! Let's turn it up!" And we'd sing it.
I know, I'm not sure either.
The third rule of the singing in the car club is that talking back to the radio and/or the artist performing the song is not a sign of instability but rather an indication that you are fully engaging with your entertainment source. This includes habitual accusations, such as when I say "You are so not from Philly" to Elton John without fail whenever "Philadelphia Freedom" comes on, or statements of need, such as "I wish I was in New York RIGHT NOW OMG I LOVE NEW YORK" when I hear "Empire State of Mind." It may also simply signal a profound need to pull over for a Frosty, but that is perhaps my particular evaluation of this behavior.
Fourth and final rule? (I think. I'm making this up as I go along, totally) is that no genre of music or performance deemed unpleasant (i.e., "not cool") in normal circumstances is off-limits in the car. This is why I know the words to some of the worst songs ever recorded in their entirety, including "Fancy" by Reba McEntire, and why I generally don't turn off any 70s light rock song, which is one of my specialty genres.
This is also why the clip below features me impersonating Darius Rucker singing a song that I have sung approximately 237 times in my car at various times in my life, with some color commentary and Hootified trash talk. Then the clip segues into the aforementioned Kickstart My Heart ridiculosity which, you know I don't even know. It had been eight hours at that point.
Honestly, I don't even know why I'm posting this, except that the stupidity below makes me laugh so hard for some reason that I cry. And it is not funny. It is not really funny like "Pants on the ground" isn't funny to me. And yet I laugh.
This is all very self-serving.
[Oh, and editor's note: As Kerry pointed out in the comments, this clip is almost eight minutes long. I don't expect my mother to watch it. Please don't. My "work" here is done, as noted below.]
And with this post I need never post myself singing on the Internet again. Or maybe I'll do it all the time, or just do a special Run DMC post, because I can perform Raisin' Hell in its entirety, and also still get a daily dose of inspiration from Rev. Run on Twitter, true story.