Busload of Faith

I've been travelling all day. Well, it feels like it anyways. These one-day offsites in another country feel a little more than a commute. However, I am as equally impressed at the transportation infrastructure that allows me to put in a full day's work 1000 kms away and return home to my bed that night, as I am totally exhausted by it. So I'm tired, stuck in a construction road block and hungry. The perfect environment for a mushy brain, and that is precisely why I was contemplating the simplest sensory stimulation at that moment - the song playing in my CD changer. I didn't have to work for it, it presented itself to me whether or not I tried.

I remember one day my girlfriend got all excited while we were driving and turned up the radio to blast Sheryl Crow's Soak Up The Sun, chirping "Oh my gosh! This is totally my theme song!", and she looked like she had a whole brainful of memories that made that a perfectly reasonable assertion. Admittedly, I wasn't feeling it, as much as I dig Sheryl, and kind of rolled it over. But from that day I have always thought that I would like a theme song. Why couldn't I find a theme song? I tried SO hard to have one. You must know that DMAT sufferers can't have a theme song - they have many.

Anyway, tonight the song playing as I stared at the lightless hatch of the neighbouring Saab was Busload of Faith - a live rendition by Lou Reed. Well I tell ya, something about it - maybe Lou's nonplussed muttering, maybe the stick-it-to-the-man bass line, maybe the surrendering tone of the lyrics - made it my theme song tonight. Yep, you need a busload of faith, sister. A whole busload. That's lots. That's like 40 screaming kids worth of faith. I shook my head at the dry resolve of Lou's words as if I could see him doing it too. The only thing, Lou, that will make me finish this drive home is my busload of faith. You know, it. Sing it for me. Uh huh, you know I feel you, brother.

So I got to thinking... what would I say to Lou if I actually met him in person? Would I be totally cool and collected cause, you know, he's just another guy? I think he'd respect me if I just pulled up a chair for him beside me at the picnic table, offered him one of my cigarettes and continued to stare straight ahead of me, contemplating whatever I was deep in thought about before he interrupted me. Letting him join me for a little while, but on my terms. I think he'd respect that. It's a nice fiction... except I don't smoke. And I probably wouldn't recognize him on the street anyways.

Maroon 5 is playing now. Live, unplugged. They do a version of Closer (Nine Inch Nails) that is pretty different. What would I say to Adam Levine if I met him? Actually, I thought I did see him today at the Portland Airport. Of course. Because that's totally where he would be... sitting in some dumpy airport bar swigging back Coors Lite. Alright, Self, I'll play this game with you for a little while longer. Adam Levine. I would say to him, "Yeah, hey... I really dug that video with Kelly Preston. The whole Mrs. Robinson thing - nice story line." I'm so interesting. It's shocking that anyone can bear a conversation with me for more than a minute.

OK ... Madonna. She's on now. I wouldn't be able to help myself. I would fall at her feet. Maybe not because she is such an amazing songstress with deep and moving lyrics, but because her business acumen and her ability to actually start new fashion trends is mind-boggling and worthy of some kind of material girl respect. Seriously, she's got this crazy tuned eye for what everyone's dying to make the next bit thing. And then she just does it in this no-nonsense, why should I apologize for anything fashion. Not that I am particularly trendy or fond of trendy things, but I'm pretty interested (in a stamp collecting kind of way) in popular culture and the forces that drive it. Rarely is a single individual capable of manipulating an entire industry all on her own. But she does it. She's not scared of it. Of course she has abs like the side door of my car so I wouldn't stand in her way either. So Madonna would render me a silly shrinking violet.

Next we have... uh... this isn't my fault. Poison - Every Rose Has Its Thorn. I think it can stop there. I don't need to imagine talking to Ce Ce and the boys because I am not sure they can even talk, or if they do it will be in some high, squeaky voice because their neon green and black striped pants are way too tight.

My legs are shaking because I am so exhausted. I was up at 5 am in my ghetto hotel (my next post may be about CRAP customer service), flew to Portland, worked all day, got forced into a filet mignon dinner with my client, flew back to Van and then drove for an hour and a half home. Tomorrow morning I have to leave again to drop the hubby off at the airport. We are trying really hard to never see each other since we got married (my next next post will be about how awesome it is to be married).

We'll see if my busload of faith can help me get up in 5 hours to drive back down to the city.