Tales from the road

Today I spent about ten hours in the car driving from Grand Rapids, Mich. to Indianapolis and back. What a marathon!

While driving through Kokomo, Ind. this evening my colleague was flipping through the stations and what did we hear? Low and behold - "Kokomo" by The Beach Boys. Kokomo in Kokomo. Aw, how cute! However, this Kokomo is not in the same ranks as Aruba and Jamaica or Bermuda and Bahamas. It is more like Dayton (OH) and Naperville (IL) or Fort Wayne (IN) and Auburn Hills (MI). In other words, no one is fallin' in love to the rhythm of the steel drum band down in Kokomo, Ind.

While driving through Kokomo we discovered not one, not two, not three but seven "Jesus" radio stations! Seven! Does seven equal Heaven in this case? Not sure why there is a need for so many Christian radio stations in one relatively small area but we enjoyed counting them. That's a whole lotta Jesus, that's for sure.... Especially for a city that would expel a little boy from middle school for contracting HIV through a blood transfusion (anyone remember the Ryan White story from the 1980s?). Would WOULD Jesus do? Just saying, Kokomo, just saying. Maybe they are trying to make up for misdeeds of the past. I shouldn't judge, but I do find seven Jesus stations to be a bit much.

Ineterestingly, this was not the only day I had a discussion about The Beach Boys in the car. Today I shared a story of the car ride with my mom and dad this weekend. They came to visit me and we traveled to a Lake Michigan beach town. We had a couple of disturbing conversations during the car ride....

First, in regard to The Beach Boys, we discussed Katy Perry's "California Gurls" and the rumors The Beach Boys are suing her. My mom said, "Oh please. Those two songs are nothing alike. The Beach Boys don't say anything about 'being so hot we'll melt our popsicle.'"

I don't need to hear my mom talking about anyone's popsicle melting, ok? Shudder.

Within five minutes of that incident my dad, drifting in and out of sleep, picked up on part of another conversation my mom and I were having and shouted out from the back seat, "I've got myself a Detroit 'ho!"

Me:  "Dad, are you talking about mom?"

Dad: "Yes."

Me: "Do you know what you just called her? Do you know what that word means?"

Silence.

Me: "Dad, do you know "ho" means "whore?"

Dad: "No."

Me: "What do you think that means?"

Dad: "I thought it meant shovel."

Me: "So mom is a shovel?!?"

Dad: Silence


Without a doubt, the next time I hear The Beach Boys I will think melting (about how no one's tropical drink is melting in their hands in Kokomo, Ind. and how much I did not enjoy my mom talking about melting popsicles) and shovels (otherwise known as "hos" or, in my case, Mom).