Eighteen, going on old

I'm a music fan.  I like a little bit of everything, from country to indie rock to hip hop to folk, and all points in between.  I rarely turn down an offer to listen to something new.

Like many people, I think, my musical taste varies depending on what I am doing.

If I'm getting pumped for a big hockey game, I'll throw on some Offspring or Rage Against the Machine.  If I'm quietly toiling away in the office, it's gotta be Ray Lamontagne, Basia Bulat or City and Colour.

If I'm in the car, it's hip hop... all the time.  A little Drake; a little Jay-Z and Kanye; a little Common.  It's the big bass... literally enveloping me in the confines of a car.  It puts me in a good mood.

Now,  I know listening to loud hip hop with lots of bass makes me a bit of a douche. Especially when I'm stopped at a light, and cars beside me can see the bass rippling through the air (ok, it's never really that loud... let's just say they know it's there).  I guess doucheyness is like an occupational hazard that comes with hip-hopping in the car, and I can deal with that hazard.

Ok, I could deal with that hazard.

As I learned recently while I was on my way to pick up Pea and my wife at dance class, the douche factor increases tenfold when there's a friggin CAR SEAT in the back seat of the car!  What a wake-up call I had when I turned around at a stop light, looked at the car seat, and realized that I'm not 18 anymore.

So, from here on out, the volume is coming down and it's talk radio 24-7.

Sigh.